Double Agent Vader
by Fialleril
Summary: A series of one-shots set in a universe where Vader turned double agent for the Rebellion about three years after ROTS, and Leia is now his primary contact with the Rebellion. New: The Slave Who Makes Free. Meanwhile, on Tatooine... (Or, in which we learn that Luke and Anakin have more of a connection than either of them yet realize.)
1. The Emperor's Speech

Set in a universe where Darth Vader turned double agent for the Rebellion about three years after ROTS. His primary contact is now Leia Organa, Senator for Alderaan, and after discovering her sensitivity to the Force, he's been teaching her a number of mental techniques, including shielding and telepathic communication. They may or may not spend entire Senate sessions making snarky commentary to each other and mocking the Emperor mercilessly.

This one is set a couple years before ANH. Vader's codename is Ekkreth.

(Also, Leia and Vader are both into fixing things, so their bets often involve wagers of various mechanical parts.)

* * *

 **The Emperor's Speech**

Leia shifted uncomfortably against the hard plastic chair of her senatorial pod. She wished this session would end. She wished the applause would end, at least. She looked down at her own applauding hands, and almost hated herself for them.

Below, standing alone on an elevated platform in the center of the great rotunda, haloed in light, Emperor Palpatine raised his hands for silence.

The applause stopped immediately.

Leia felt a nudge against her mind, the mental equivalent of someone tapping her on the shoulder, and she fought the urge to grin. It wouldn't do to have any too-obvious emotional reaction, not when the Emperor had called for complete attention.

Keeping her face carefully blank, she adjusted her mental shields, just the way Ekkreth had taught her, and waited.

 _Seven spark plugs says he's going to start off on the horrible decadences of the Old Republic, and the necessity of vigilance to keep our Empire secure and strong_ , Ekkreth's voice said dryly in her head.

His mental voice, she'd learned long ago, sounded very different from the mechanically-controlled baritone she was used to. She wondered sometimes if this was his true voice.

Leia maintained her appropriately severe expression, but mentally, she allowed a laugh to transmit across the link. _No thanks_ , she thought. _I don't take bets I know I can't win._

She didn't look at Vader. She knew he was standing unobtrusively at the top level of the rotunda, nearly directly across from her. She also knew that he unnerved most senators, and that there was what amounted to an unspoken collective agreement to ignore his presence. She couldn't behave any differently.

Below, the Emperor was decrying the excesses of the Old Republic and praising the peace and security of the Empire in comparison.

Leia sighed mentally. _I think I must have heard this same speech at least twenty times_ , she thought.

She felt a strange, shuddering kind of mental blink – a feeling that would have been a snort of disgust had it been vocal. _Only twenty?_ Ekkreth thought at her. _How dreadful that must be._ His mental tone was dry as dust.

Leia fought the urge to laugh again. _What? Don't tell me he's been using the same speech for over fifteen years?_

 _Longer_ , Ekkreth said flatly, and then, _Our Empire is kept strong through Order and Vigilance. We will prevail over this Rebel threat, because the forces of Order always prevail over those of Chaos, and because we are Strong and –_

Leia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, and even that almost wasn't enough. It sounded like an echo in her head. Below, Emperor Palpatine was still speaking, and it was nearly word for word the same as the bone dry speech she heard in her mind.

 _Why Your Majesty!_ she thought. _Your speeches are so memorable! So inspiring!_

She felt a pleasant buzzing across the link, like a deep chuckle. _Oh yes_ , Ekkreth said. _I recite them to myself every morning, you know. It keeps me motivated._

Leia snickered. _I just bet it does_ , she thought.

The Emperor was still speaking, but Leia had lost the thread of his words a long time ago. It didn't matter. He wasn't saying anything new.

She wondered, sometimes, why he bothered. She'd even asked Ekkreth once, but he'd just laughed, a strange huffing sound through the respirator. "It's pointless," he'd told her. "That's the point."

She hadn't understood that immediately, but she did now. The Emperor had absolute control of the galaxy. The Imperial Senate was a joke, and that became more and more obvious every day. They were there for appearance's sake only. The Emperor's seemingly weekly speeches, each more pointless than the last, only drove that home.

He was rubbing their faces in their own irrelevance, and they applauded him for it.

Suddenly even their snide mental conversation wasn't quite enough to make Leia laugh.

 _Two power packs says he's going to end the session early, before the trade bill can come to a vote_ , she thought viciously.

Ekkreth, though, felt amused. She wasn't surprised. He always seemed to have a very bleak, almost despairing, sense of humor.

 _I'm not fool enough to take that bet, either, Your Highness_ , he said.

Leia huffed. She could have used those power packs. _You're no fun_ , she grumbled.

 _I'll make it up to you_ , said Ekkreth, still clearly amused. _Meet me at 0300 in the usual place. I have something for your father._

Below, the Emperor raised his arms grandly, bringing an end to his speech and announcing that the Senate session was ended for the day. The applause rolled again.

 _I'll be there_ , Leia thought, and let her hands join the clamor. It was true the Emperor had made the Senate a joke. But in the end, she thought with a fierce twist of humor, the joke would be on him.


	2. Aftermath

Help, I started writing fic in this 'verse and now I can't stop.

This one is set after the destruction of both Alderaan and the Death Star, but before the final celebration scene in ANH. The premise is that everything we saw on screan in ANH still happened - there was just a lot more going on behind the scenes.

Ekkreth is, as previously, Anakin's codename. Ripple is Leia's codename.

* * *

 **Aftermath**

There was something almost soothing about drifting through space.

He could have controlled the spin, of course. He could have righted his fighter and repaired the damaged stabilizer easily enough, even without an astromech. He could have, but he chose not to.

That was what made it so liberating. The letting go.

Anakin recognized the irony, but he was far too weary to do more than sigh. His little fighter tumbled through space, unmoored, and he sat back and closed his eyes and let himself drift.

But it was a mistake, closing his eyes. There was too much that lived behind his lids.

He drifted, and in the holocinema of his mind, Alderaan exploded in a million dancing sparks and billions of voices cried out in sudden rending agony and Obi-Wan disappeared beneath the slow swipe of his blade.

A beeping sounded.

Anakin scowled to himself. If his master expected a report _now_ , well, Anakin was just going to be caught in wild space without a signal, and that was that.

But he had to check.

He opened his eyes, visions of sparking dust receding to the back of his mind but not leaving him completely. His console hadn't lit up. The internal com in his suit, too, was silent. That left only one option.

With a hand that he told himself quite firmly was not trembling, Anakin reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny, untraceable little com he'd designed himself. It was a plain circle of dark metal, with no markings and no obvious buttons, and there had been only two people in the galaxy who knew the frequency.

Now there was only one.

He drew a breath, and pressed the com.

"Ekkreth?" said Leia's voice, and even through the scrambling she sounded frantic. "Ekkreth! Come in! Please come in!"

"Ripple," he said, softly, almost involuntarily, and he heard her quiet sob.

"You're alive," she breathed. "Thank the spirits, you're alive."

He couldn't think what to say. He was alive, and her world was dead. He hadn't stopped it. He thought, if he was her, he would have hated him. He _did_ hate him. But that was nothing new.

"Where are you?" she said. "Can I see you? I just – " and here there was another hitching sob " – I just need to know."

Anakin frowned. This was not a conversation they should be having over comlink, not even on what was certainly the most secure connection in the galaxy.

He glanced out the viewport, and Yavin's moon loomed in front of him, pale green and shining in the blackness of space.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I'm going to crash."

"Ekkreth!" she said, and distorted voice or not, he could feel the fear in her, even so far away. They'd always been strangely attuned in the Force.

"It's all right," he said, even though he really shouldn't have. But she was terrified. Reassuring her was worth the risk.

He righted his fighter, but not too much. Just in case, this had to look right.

"Follow the smoke trail," he told her, and switched the com off.

There was a fine art to crashing a ship properly. Obi-Wan had never believed him when he said that. Anakin gritted his teeth, pushed the throttle, and didn't think of Kenobi.

* * *

The crash was spectacular, if he said so himself. His TIE was a smoking scrap heap, one wing missing entirely and probably hundreds of kilometers away, the remainder of the fighter twisted and contorted on itself. The flight recorder was damaged beyond all salvage.

Bad luck, that.

Anakin pulled himself from the wreckage gingerly. He'd done pretty well for himself, but he hadn't escaped unscathed, which was probably for the best. It wouldn't do to survive a crash like that without some injury.

He was going to need a new left hand, and the hydraulics in his right leg would probably give out in a few hours, but that was easily fixed. His life support was perfectly intact, and that was the important thing.

Around him, the jungle sounds were beginning to return, and he even sensed a few animals, peeking out uneasily at the strange jumble of metal that suddenly occupied their home. He sensed no sentient life anywhere nearby.

With a huff of breath, Anakin perched himself on a large stump and set to work on his leg while he waited. It was a simple enough repair, but more of a hassle than usual, with only one hand to work with, and no tools. His kit had been destroyed in the crash – by far the worst loss of this little charade.

Still, he'd managed a workable temporary fix by the time the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon. He was just beginning to consider the prospect of camping when he felt her presence, and a moment later there was the sound of an approaching speeder bike.

Leia sped through the trees without slowing and blasted to a sudden halt beside the wreckage. She'd barely parked the speeder when she was off and all but throwing herself on Anakin, her arms around his waist and sobbing into his chestplate.

"You're alive," she said, again and again. "You're alive."

Anakin stood stiffly, almost frozen by the sudden reality of her. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him.

Gingerly, he reached around to pat her back with his one working hand.

She pulled back, wiping fiercely at her eyes, and stepped back to look him over. Her gaze was caught on the mangled remains of his left hand, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Your hand – "

Anakin felt himself shrug. "It's all right," he said. "I can fix it."

She blinked at him, and then her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Oh," she said, her voice very small, and he realized that maybe she hadn't known.

His own breathing sounded loud and harsh in the clearing made by the wreck. He didn't know what to say to her. Alderaan was dead, and he'd learned a long time ago that apologies were worthless things.

"Ripple," he said, helplessly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so powerless. (But no, that wasn't true of course. He remembered. He'd been new-born from the operating table, his world cast in shades of red and pain, and Padmé was dead and there'd been nothing, nothing in the entire galaxy that mattered anymore.)

"I was so afraid," she said. "I – I thought – " She drew a sharp breath and tried for a smile, but it was wet with tears. "You're like a second father to me," she whispered. "I didn't realize, not consciously, not until – You're all I have left, now. I lost everyone else, everyone, and I was so afraid I'd lost you too."

Anakin stared at her. He'd never allowed himself to think it. Padmé –

He'd been so certain their child would be a girl. He remembered that, now, with the same sharp spike of pain the memory always brought. He'd wanted a little girl. A little girl with her mother's eyes and his mother's chin. They were going to name her Leia. It was an old name, a strong name from the stories of his childhood. _The mighty one_. Krayt Dragon, the Elder Sister of the slaves and Ekkreth's eldest daughter, she who walked in the desert and feared nothing, because nothing could touch her.

Leia was an Alderaanian name, too. He knew that. He'd looked it up once, because – well, he had. It was a traditional name from the mountains surrounding Aldera. It meant "beloved."

It was a coincidence, and nothing more. He'd never allowed it to mean more.

"Leia," he said now, and the name burned on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said with a watery laugh. "I know what you're thinking. Spies aren't supposed to get attached."

Anakin's smile was rueful, even though she couldn't see it. "Well," he said. "I've never been especially good at detachment."

She looked up at him, startled, and the smile that wreathed her face now was at least as much joyful as it was pained.

"I don't blame you," she said fiercely. "For Alderaan. I want you to know that."

He didn't deserve her absolution. But he never would, and there was no point in dwelling on it. So he merely nodded. He could blame himself enough for the both of them.

"What will you do now?" Leia asked.

"Well, I've crashed," he said drily. "And the flight recorder and my com relay were both tragically destroyed in the wreck. It could take me several days to build a new relay from scrap. I might be out of contact with Coruscant for as much as a week."

He'd hoped she might laugh, but Leia only frowned. "But you'll make contact after that," she said. "You'll go back."

"Yes," he said. They both knew he had to. Now more than ever, the Rebellion needed him at his master's side.

"I wish you didn't have to," she said, but she didn't try to stop him.

"You have a week to clear out the base," he said. "I can't realistically wait longer than that."

Leia bit her lip. "Will you – " she began, and then began again. "He's not going to be happy. Will you be all right?"

They both knew who _he_ was. And they both knew the answer to her question was no. The Emperor was not forgiving of failure.

Instead, Anakin said, "It will take a while, for me to work my way back up. I'll have to be more aggressive."

She looked unhappy, but she nodded. "Then we'll just have to be better at hiding," she said.

"Practice your shielding," he said, and then hesitated.

The pilot who destroyed the Death Star had been Force sensitive, too. That had been impossible to miss. But Anakin needed to miss it. He needed to know as little as possible, because once his master learned of it, he would never let it go.

He remembered the way the pilot had blazed in the Force, like a sun going nova or the burning dance of binary stars. There was no way he'd be able to go on not noticing, if the pilot didn't learn.

"And you need to teach the pilot," he told Leia. "The one who fired the shot. He's strong in the Force – too strong. And his shields are non-existent."

Leia blinked. "Luke?" she asked, startled. "General Kenobi was teaching him, but I – "

"Don't," snapped Anakin. He still didn't want to think about Obi-Wan. "Don't tell me any more. The less I know, the better."

Leia flushed lightly, and he could feel her embarrassment even with her shields. She was too open around him, sometimes. He should correct that.

He didn't.

"Won't they miss you?" he said instead. "Your gallant band of rebels?"

Leia forced a laugh. "Yeah," she said. "I do have to get back. We're having a ceremony, you know. To – to celebrate." Her voice only broke a little.

Anakin fought with himself, and lost. He rested his working hand lightly on her shoulder. "This is a victory, Leia," he said. "It's all right to celebrate, and to mourn. You don't have to be alone."

She looked up at him with bright eyes. "Neither do you," she whispered fiercely, and then she was hugging him again.

He responded a little better this time. At least he remembered how to do it. The awkwardness was tolerable, if it helped her.

Anakin had always known he'd do anything for the people he cared about. _You're like a father to me_ , she'd said, and the words burned in him. It was almost a comfort, to know that after everything, he was still himself.

Leia stepped back. "You still have your com?" she asked, brusque and businesslike, and he nodded. She gave a little twist of a smile. "And you'll use it, I hope?"

"I will report as expected, Your Highness," Anakin said, and even sketched a little bow.

She laughed. "See that you do," she said, and then, more seriously, "Be safe, Ekkreth. Your information is important, but so are you."

Anakin wasn't so certain of that, but he didn't correct her. "And you, Leia," he said.

She gave him a firm nod and stepped away, moving to her speeder bike without another word. Anakin stood still and watched the bike disappear into the jungle as the light fell.

She would be all right. He'd never doubted that.

 _And you are like a daughter to me_ , he thought. And then he turned away, and began the weary process of setting up camp.


	3. Decryption Codes

This is technically the prequel to the previous two chapters, and the beginning of this 'verse.

Leia is 16 in this fic, and sometimes it shows. (Teenage Rebel princess, fighting the man with encrypted information and embarrassing doodles of the Emperor.)

Most of the feelings Leia "imagines" for Vader are probably things she's really picking up through the Force - they're strangely attuned to one another even now. (I wonder why?)

* * *

 **Decryption Codes**

Leia Organa, newly appointed Imperial Senator for Alderaan, had been quite thoroughly briefed before her arrival on Coruscant.

There'd been the private meeting with the Queen (which was really just a chat over breakfast – it was hard to maintain formality when the Queen was also your mother). There'd been the official briefing with the Queen's Council, and the extensive reading she'd been given on the history of her position, her role and responsibilities as a representative of Alderaan, and a good deal of background material on the history of the Imperial Senate and its various members. There'd been the official welcome packet from Coruscant (which she found much less useful, but which she read through anyway).

And there had been the _other_ briefing. This one was conducted secretly, in a room swept three times for bugs, and no records of the meeting were ever made. She left it with codes, names, and numbers committed to memory, and the knowledge that she held a world's fate in her hands.

None of those briefings had prepared her for meeting Darth Vader.

She'd bowed to the Emperor, made the proper obeisance and observed all the pleasantries, and she thought she'd done an admirable job of keeping her revulsion from showing on her face. He hadn't even seemed especially interested in her: there were four other new senators being received as well, and the overall impression she had of Palpatine was of someone just barely tolerating tedium. She wondered why he bothered. He was the Emperor, after all.

"This is Lord Vader," the Emperor had said, waving an almost careless hand. "He will continue the introductions." And that had been the end of the audience.

Leia was underwhelmed. She'd prepared herself for an immediate test of her acting skills, for keeping a blank face and steely eyes in the face of supreme evil, and he'd barely even looked at her.

"This way," Vader rumbled abruptly, and he swept off without a backward glance at any of them. Leia exchanged a look with her colleagues, but Vader showed no signs of slowing, and she had to half-run to catch up to him.

He was utterly inscrutable. His voice was a carefully enunciated baritone, nearly toneless for all that, and she spent the first half of their whirlwind tour around the Senate Hall trying to decide if it was robotic or a sarcasm so finely honed as to be nearing performance art. By the time they reached the Senate rotunda, she still hadn't made up her mind.

"The Emperor is pleased that you will all be joining him in his efforts to improve our great Empire," Vader said. His voice was rich with resonance and still, somehow, managed to sound perfectly flat.

Leia blinked. She glanced rapidly at the other senators, but they all looked merely attentive and vaguely nervous, though some were better at hiding it than others.

They all mumbled some appropriately meaningless response, and Leia thought she must have said something too, but her attention was caught on Vader. There was nothing in his posture or his tone that indicated anything other than perfect sincerity, with perhaps a touch of annoyance. She'd watched him bow to the Emperor on his knees. She knew what he was. Her father had even warned her against him specially, though he hadn't given her much in the way of specifics. And she'd heard more than enough stories about him.

But she couldn't shake the sudden feeling that there was something off about him. That he was hiding something. That he _knew_ something.

And that thought should have terrified her. It should have, but it didn't. She stared at his impenetrable mask and imagined that if she only looked hard enough, she could read the thoughts and intentions behind it.

Vader took a sudden step forward, and Leia started, snapping her gaze away and staring at the floor as her pulse thundered against her ribs.

But all he said was, "You are dismissed," as though he'd forgotten he was addressing Imperial Senators and not his troops. None of them were brave enough to correct him. They scattered, making vague noises of thanks so as not to look too eager to escape. Leia turned to go herself.

"Senator Organa," Vader rumbled, and she froze.

He stepped around to face her. The mask was as blankly serene as always, but she could feel his eyes on her, cutting through her with all the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. Too late, she remembered the many rumors about him and his strange powers of observation.

If he read her now, everything might be up before she'd even begun.

Leia held herself still and straight. She imagined that her mind was a mountain stream, flowing clear and musical over tumbled stones. She told herself she was not afraid.

She was a bit surprised to realize that it was true.

At last she felt his eyes leave hers. "I look forward to working with you, Your Highness," he said. And then with a sweep of his cloak he was gone.

* * *

Leia took her time returning to Alderaan's Senatorial offices. Her father's aides – well, _her_ aides now – were all in a frenzy, worried that she'd gotten lost or been attacked (or been discovered, they didn't say), and she did her best to reassure them. She didn't mention anything about Darth Vader.

The rest of the day was spent in more briefings and meetings and a painfully tedious Senate gala ostensibly meant to welcome the newest Senators, but in fact, as far as Leia could tell, really only meant as an excuse for expensive alcohol and inane chatter and the proper showing of arm candy.

Darth Vader wasn't there. She didn't know why she'd looked for him, exactly. She had no real reason to believe that he would be as disgusted as she was.

She made her excuses as early as possible. The Senator from Kashyyyk (the _human_ senator, she noted) joked that it was only to be expected: the Republic's capital world was very different from Alderaan's rural mountain ranges, and she was still very young of course. Leia bit her tongue and let him have the jibe – it got her what she wanted, after all.

Her apartment was cold and sterile and she very nearly fell into bed fully dressed, but of course Fiura wouldn't let her.

"Let's at least get you out of this gown, Your Highness," she tutted, and Leia sighed and allowed herself to be maneuvered out of the voluminous gown and into a simple nightdress. She flopped back on the bed almost immediately, and Fiura laughed, bustling around the room tidying up her clothing and chattering lightly without expecting any response.

Leia smiled to herself and had nearly drifted off to sleep when Fiura shook her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she said. "But you left this in your pocket, and I doubt you want to lose it."

Leia blinked her eyes open. Fiura was holding a small datastick made of sleek, dark, unmarked metal. She was certain she'd never seen it before.

Suddenly she wasn't tired at all. But she was a good actress.

Fiura left the datastick on her night table and slipped out, murmuring "Sleep well, Leia," as she flicked off the light. Leia lay in the dark, counting her breaths, until she heard the other woman's door open and then close again. Then she sprang up.

The datastick was encrypted, of course. She hadn't really expected anything else. But she hadn't expected the encryption to be so hard to break.

She ran it through several standard programs. She tried codes. There were the Alderaanian Embassy codes, and the Palace codes, and even the private Organa codes.

When nothing worked, Leia took a deep breath, ran a thorough secondary check for bugs in the room, and tried the Rebel codes.

The first six she tried were no more effective than any of the others. But the seventh gave her access.

Leia sucked in a sharp breath. There was only one person in the galaxy who used that code. And she wasn't supposed to know about them at all.

There were two files on the datastick. One was under further encryption, and no codes she tried could get her access. But the other was a simple document, easily accessible.

 _Give this to your father_ , it said.

* * *

The Senate met in session for the first time on Leia's third day in Imperial Center.

She woke early and in a foul mood. She was due at a meeting with Senator Orn Free Taa of Ryloth, a man she'd met only once and already despised, and whose odious presence she would have to endure for an entire hour. And to make matters worse, her father was being unusually tight-lipped with her.

She'd transferred the encrypted data to him last night, sent it over a channel secured seven ways and on a frequency she'd never used before. Bail wouldn't tell her why. He wouldn't say anything about what was on the datastick, or who had given it to her, or why. He'd looked almost frightened when she told him about it, and then he'd simply said, "Be careful, Leia. Please. Your mother and I worry."

It must have been important, whatever it was. Certainly more important than this pointless meeting with Orn Free Taa.

Leia scowled to herself and stabbed viciously at her breakfast. Across from her, the Twi'lek senator prattled on, talking about the many amenities of Coruscant life and the perks of being an Imperial senator. Behind him, his three "aides" huddled together, eyes cast on the floor. Leia's stomach churned, and she gave up any attempt at eating.

She knew her father had contact with someone on the inside. Someone high up. Important. Maybe even part of the Emperor's inner circle. And she knew it wasn't common knowledge in the Rebellion. Even she wasn't supposed to know.

But Leia was a better spy than her father gave her credit for. She'd always had a knack for hacking systems, and Bail had always encouraged her; it was, after all, a skill she would need. But she didn't think he'd realized just how much she had learned.

He certainly knew now. The message she'd sent on last night had been encrypted in a code used by only one person.

Ekkreth. Leia knew the name, though she wasn't supposed to. No one else in the Rebellion knew even that much, she was sure.

And that meant Ekkreth was someone she'd met. Someone at the gala. It had to be. She'd considered the possibility that the datastick had been delivered by a proxy, but Leia herself was already a go-between, and Ekkreth was a top level operative. They wouldn't risk involving too many people.

But Ekkreth _had_ involved Leia. And not just as an unknowing carrier of information. The message, _Give this to your father_ , had been intended for her. And it had been encrypted.

Ekkreth had expected Leia to be able to crack the code.

Her spine stiffened at the thought, and she only remembered where she was when Senator Taa took enough of a break from his extended monologue to ask if she was quite well.

"Oh, yes, pardon me," she said sweetly, and he went right on discussing the economic advantages of the Empire's clever use of sentient resources.

Leia ground her teeth. Slavery. He was talking about slavery.

She sat in seething silence for the rest of their so-called meeting, and escaped to her office as quickly as possible. She didn't really need to prepare for the day's Senate session. The only thing on the agenda was a proposed amendment to Coruscant's traffic laws. But it was as good an excuse as any to get away.

"What kind of civilized government legalizes slavery?" she hissed under her breath, scowling at the mechanism on her office door, which seemed to be taking longer than usual to read her ID.

"You might be surprised, Your Highness," said a deep voice directly behind her. It was only then that she registered the sound of mechanized breathing.

Leia spun around, her own breath quickening as she tried to keep the terror from showing on her face. "Lord Vader!" she gasped. "I didn't realize – "

"That," said Vader, "is obvious." He was standing just there, his hands clasped behind his back, that expressionless mask regarding her levelly. There was nothing at all to indicate emotion in his stance or bearing.

And yet, Leia couldn't shake the feeling that he was laughing at her.

"You are unwise to be so free with your opinions, Your Highness," he said, and nothing about his posture changed in the least.

It was a threat. It had to be a threat. It certainly sounded like one, and he was _Darth Vader_. She couldn't imagine he was in the habit of giving advice to careless green senators.

So why did it feel like he was doing just that?

"I'll take that under advisement," Leia snapped, and Vader inclined his head – it _wasn't_ mocking, and there was absolutely no reason for her to think it was – and left without another word.

Finally, the reader on her door chimed, and Leia slipped as quickly as possible into her office, all but collapsing into her chair. She breathed in slow, measured breaths, just the way she'd been taught, and told herself that her mind didn't feel as though it were buzzing with a nameless energy.

She hadn't ruined anything, she told herself. It was perfectly acceptable to hold an anti-slavery position in the Empire.

Even if it did run counter to the Emperor's own position.

The door buzzed again, and Fiura entered, a stack of datapads in her arms. "Good morning, Your Highness!" she said brightly, depositing them in a messy spread across Leia's desk. "How was your meeting with Senator Taa?"

"Very strange," muttered Leia, though she wasn't really talking about the senator at all. She had just realized she didn't know why Vader had been there in the first place, or what he could have wanted from her. Whatever it was, she hoped he'd left without it.

* * *

Vader was present for that Senate session. He stood silently looming on the observation deck above the Senate rotunda, supposedly unobtrusive, and certainly not participating. But his presence cast a pall across the chamber. The atmosphere was thick with a nervous energy, and Leia's colleagues were unusually reticent and in some cases even almost twitchy.

She watched them all with interest, but mostly she watched him.

She should have been frightened, Leia knew. She'd certainly been unnerved earlier that day, when he overheard her so vocally disagreeing with their illustrious Emperor. And he was obviously here as a show of force. He probably even enjoyed it. Everyone here was intimidated by him, and none of them were doing a very good job of hiding it.

So there was absolutely no reason why she should imagine that he was annoyed by the whole spectacle. Or that he might actually be bored behind that black death mask.

But she was imagining it, and really, Leia had to admit, it was a pretty good image. She could even sympathize with him, this imaginary Vader: the Emperor had already been speaking for nearly forty minutes, and Leia had tuned out his droning long ago. And he had a pretty good set up, didn't he, behind that mask? If _she_ was Vader, she'd probably be napping right now. Who would know?

Leia bit her lip to stifle a wholly inappropriate giggle. The Emperor was still speaking.

The speech went on for some twenty minutes more, and then they were finally allowed to vote on the traffic bill. Vader slipped out immediately after the vote was announced (passing, of course), and she didn't see him again that day.

* * *

That night, Leia found another datastick in her pocket.

Although she knew what she would find, she ran all the decryptions again. There was only one accessible document.

It said, _Give this to your father._

* * *

Leia hadn't realized, when she decided to become a Rebel spy, just how tedious it would be.

She'd imagined – well, even with her parents' briefings, to be honest she'd imagined clandestine meetings late at night in abandoned facilities, creeping through air vents and hacking into systems for information, maybe even desperate speeder chases through the lower levels of Coruscant or last minute escapes from certain death.

What she hadn't imagined was paperwork. She hadn't imagined dry-as-dust meetings with stodgy old bureaucrats, or the utter inanity of the vast majority of her daily tasks. She hadn't imagined that even audiences with the Emperor would be mundane and largely pointless.

Leia felt like she wasn't really doing anything. The machinery of the Empire ground on, unchanged and utterly banal. She hadn't discovered any secrets of great importance, or rescued anyone from persecution at the hands of the Empire, or even managed to pass on any real information to the Rebellion.

Or at least, she wouldn't have, if not for Ekkreth.

The datasticks continued appearing regularly in her pockets. There was no set frequency to their appearance: sometimes she'd go as much as a week between datasticks, and sometimes there would be a new one nearly every day. And she still hadn't managed to get anything out of them other than the one message. _Give this to your father_ , they said, every time.

Bail certainly knew what that meant, and he certainly knew who Ekkreth really was. She hadn't been sure at first – sometimes, their agents' true identities were entirely unknown. But Leia was quite sure now. Her father was far too worried about her involvement, even more so than could be explained by the high level nature of the contact.

He wouldn't tell her anything, though.

She knew this was mostly a matter of security. The Rebellion functioned at least as much on what its operatives _didn't_ know as on what they did. And certainly things would become much more dangerous for her if she knew Ekkreth's identity.

That didn't stop her wanting to know. Leia was involved in something big, something _important_. And she wanted to know what.

* * *

Vader didn't attend every Senate session. And there was very little rhyme or reason to those he did attend.

Sometimes he seemed almost omnipresent in the senatorial complex, so much so that Leia actually did a bit of snooping to see if he had an office there, but he didn't.

He didn't have an official space anywhere, as far as she could tell.

Everyone addressed him as Lord Vader, which must have been a title, but Leia couldn't determine what it was in relation to. He didn't hold a position within the Imperial hierarchy. He certainly wasn't Lord of any planet or system. And he didn't hold a military rank, either.

In fact, the more digging she did, the more Leia began to realize she had no idea what it was that Darth Vader actually _did_.

There were the rumors, of course. Each of them seemed worse than the last. Assassin. Torturer. Spy. The Emperor's iron fist. Jedi. Jedi killer.

Leia's parents had told her, in whispers, the truth about the Jedi. That they had been keepers of the peace and defenders of justice in the old Republic, and that the Emperor had brought about their destruction because they were a threat to him. She couldn't imagine someone like that siding with the Emperor, so of course Vader couldn't be a Jedi.

Though he _did_ carry a lightsaber. And some of the darker rumors whispered that he could read emotions or even thoughts, and that he could pull the answers to his questions directly out of his victims' minds.

But Leia hadn't actually caught a glimpse of Vader in nearly two weeks now. No one knew where he was, though she could tell her fellow senators were relieved by his absence. The bills they debated in session were no more substantial than usual, but they seemed less concerned about that.

Leia sighed, glancing down at her datapad, which was covered in doodles. One of them showed the Emperor frolicking in a field of butterflies. She should probably erase that one.

On the Senate floor, the representative from Malastare was presenting a proposal for a new state holiday in celebration of Palpatine's birthday.

Leia erased her doodles and stared down at the blank screen. She hadn't received any datasticks in two weeks, either. The whispers about Vader buzzed in her mind. Assassin. Torturer.

She hoped Ekkreth was safe.

* * *

It was a whole week more before she received another datastick. As she ran the decryptions, Leia made a mental inventory of every place she'd been that day and every person she'd interacted with. It was a surprisingly short list.

She'd had breakfast in her apartments that morning, and spent most of the day either in her office or in session. The only people she'd spoken with in anything like close quarters were Fiura, Senator Pooja Naberrie of Naboo, the members of the Regional Governors Oversight Committee (a joke of a committee with no real power to speak of, she thought viciously), and Darth Vader.

She knew Ekkreth wasn't Fiura. Her aide was already in her confidence when it came to Rebel activity – there would have been no reason for the deception. And she couldn't imagine her parents being terrified at the idea of her interacting with Fiura, either.

For a time, she seriously considered Pooja Naberrie. The other woman hadn't said anything at all that would indicate she was sympathetic to the cause, and she hailed from the Emperor's home planet. But Leia had a – well, a _feeling_ about her. It wasn't something she could explain, exactly, but she'd always been able to read people well, and she felt certain that Pooja was not nearly as loyal a citizen of the Empire as she appeared.

However true that was, though, the plain fact was that she'd only really had any interaction with Pooja in the last five weeks. And she'd been receiving messages from Ekkreth for months now.

The members of the committee… Leia had always thought the majority of them were boot licking toadies, but now she allowed for the possibility that for one of them, at least, it might be an act. If so, they were a very good actor. Leia snorted to herself.

But she'd received some of the datasticks on days when she hadn't met with the committee. And while she occasionally interacted with some of the members outside of committee meetings, there wasn't a single one of them she'd seen on every day that she received one of Ekkreth's messages.

But she had seen Vader.

Leia's mind nearly stalled at the thought. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. He was _Darth Vader_.

But…

Vader had been there in the Senate session that morning, looming above the rotunda as casually as if he'd never been away, as silent as always. Leia had spent the entirety of the session listening with half an ear and watching him surreptitiously in the mirrored surface of her pod's console. He'd looked no different than he ever did. She'd had no reason at all for imagining that he was tired, maybe even half asleep on his feet.

But she had imagined it.

And she'd nearly run into him at the session's end. That should have been nearly impossible – Vader was huge, and the measured breathing of his respirator was quite distinctive. But Leia was starting to think he had some way of silencing it when he wished, because this was the second time she hadn't heard him coming at all.

"Your Highness," he'd said, as inflectionless as always. But she'd felt him watching her.

Leia still didn't know what had possessed her to say it. Perhaps it was her ridiculous image from earlier, of Vader exhausted and aching, waiting out the Senate session. Whatever it was, she'd looked him straight in the mask and said, "Welcome back, Lord Vader."

For a long moment, he hadn't said anything, but his breath had quickened for the barest instant, and Leia was certain, though she had no evidence to support her certainty, that she'd surprised him. Then he said, "Thank you, Your Highness."

And that was it. They went their separate ways.

And a few short hours later, when she put her hand in her pocket, there was a datastick.

The decryption programs were still running, but Leia wasn't paying any attention to them now. She was staring out her window at the long lines of traffic streaming through Coruscant's night.

Ekkreth was someone with access to the highest levels of Imperial government. Maybe even someone in the Emperor's inner circle. Her father knew Ekkreth's identity, but no one else did. Her father was apparently terrified of her interacting with Ekkreth, and wouldn't tell her anything about them. Her father trusted Ekkreth, but maybe not completely.

She'd interacted with Vader at least once on every single day she'd received a datastick. Vader had been gone from Coruscant for three weeks, and for three weeks there had been no messages from Ekkreth.

Her console beeped, signaling that the decryptions were complete. The only accessible document said the same thing it always did. _Give this to your father._

Leia did. She set up the now-familiar seven-way encrypted channel, and passed the unknown information on to Bail and Breha on Alderaan.

And when it was done, she collected the datastick, erased all record of her activity, and went to sleep.

* * *

The real problem with her plan, Leia quickly realized, was that no one sought out Darth Vader. She couldn't exactly request a meeting with him under some pretense, as she would have done with some of her Senate contacts. They had to run into each other naturally, and it would have to happen in public.

Finally, in desperation, Leia resorted to the age old tactic of bumping into him in a corridor. She didn't even have to fake her cringing in the aftermath. As spy techniques went, it was almost pathetic.

But it did the trick. Her message was delivered, and now all she had to do was wait. And hope she hadn't made a horrible mistake.

* * *

She'd chosen an old abandoned hangar bay in the Works for their meeting place. Leia could admit, if only to herself, that part of her reasoning had been the atmospheric look of the place. But it was also centrally located and infrequently patrolled, and she'd chosen a spot where she could easily see everything happening, both within the hangar and in the surrounding district. She fingered the blaster at her side, clicked the safety off, and waited.

She'd been there nearly an hour already when she felt the eyes on her. She hadn't seen him arrive, and she hadn't heard his distinctive breathing, either, but she knew he was there. She could feel it.

Leia stood slowly and came around the pile of dilapidated crates she'd been using as cover. Vader's breathing was suddenly audible just to her right, and she turned to find him, a darker black against the darkness of the hangar.

"Your Highness," he said.

Leia sucked in a breath of her own. This was it, she thought with a morbid internal chuckle. Either she was right, or she was dead.

"Lord Vader," she said, and held out the datastick between them. "If you're going to involve me in this, I think I deserve to know what's going on."

For a long moment, there was no sound but his breathing. Leia could feel his eyes on her, searching. And then she felt something else, strange and yet oddly familiar, like a brush across her mind.

"Your name is – Leia," said Vader.

She might have made some sarcastic comment: of course that was her name – it was hardly a secret. But something in his voice stopped her. It was the first real inflection she'd ever heard there, and for once, it fit perfectly with the emotion she couldn't seem to stop herself from imagining in him. He sounded almost…wistful.

"Yes," Leia said into the strange fragility of the moment.

His breathing filled the stillness of the hangar.

"My name," said Vader, "is Ekkreth."


	4. Bedrock

_Someone in my writing group asked for Leia's interrogation on the Death Star in the double agent 'verse. So this is that._

 _No actual torture occurs in this fic, but the idea of torture is pretty omnipresent and they talk around it a lot, so please be safe, friends!_

* * *

 **Bedrock**

Her cell was too cold and too bright and far too sterile. But it wasn't silent. No, there were sound-damping panels installed in all the walls and the floor, she was sure, but even they weren't enough to drown out the constant low hum of the giant space station that enclosed her.

Leia curled her knees against her chest and shivered.

 _You weren't on any mercy mission this time_ , Vader had said, and the message had been clear. This time, he couldn't afford to show her mercy. This time, there could be no excuse for letting her go.

She hoped that Artoo had escaped. She had to believe he had. He was their only hope.

The door to her cell slid open with a sudden hiss, and Leia sat up sharply, her spine straightening and her eyes blazing with fire. Until they caught on the droid.

Darth Vader stood there in the doorway, a massive black shape against the stark white and chrome of her world, and beside him hovered a shape out of nightmares. It was all blinking lights and humming servos and long, sharp needles and blades, and even given everything she knew about the Empire, Leia hadn't really believed this thing existed.

"And now, Your Highness," Vader said, "we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base."

Leia sucked in a sharp, shallow breath. She stared up at his expressionless mask, but her eyes kept flicking back to the torture droid. For the first time in a long time, she was afraid of him.

Vader stepped through the door, and it snapped closed behind him, shutting the guards outside. Leia could feel the soundproofing descend over the room like a sudden change in air pressure; it made her ears pop.

Vader gestured sharply, and the tiny red lights that indicated cameras around her cell winked out. Another slashing motion of his hand, and the droid seemed to droop, its lights dimming and its terrible arms retracting. It settled to rest just beside the door, and didn't move again.

"Is the information secure?" Vader asked, and Leia tore her eyes away from the droid and remembered that this was Ekkreth, and that she didn't have to fear him.

"Yes," she said, though her voice sounded much shakier than she'd meant it to. She swallowed, her eyes darting around the room. "Won't they notice you've turned off the cameras?"

"That is the standard procedure for this type of interrogation," Vader said without inflection.

Leia shuddered. "Oh," she said, her voice very small. She tried not to think about how he knew that, or how many other times he must have engaged in these "interrogations," or… She tried not to think about it.

For a moment, everything was silent. And then, to her great surprise, Vader bent with a creaking of leather and a faint whirring of gears and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. His broad shape and the cloak puddling behind him completely obscured the droid from her view.

"This is hardly an ideal circumstance," he said, and the edge of frustration in his voice was so purely Ekkreth that Leia looked up and let her eyes meet his mask again.

She tried for a smile. It was little and broken but it was something. "No," she said wryly. "I'd say it's quite far from ideal." She huffed out a laugh entirely devoid of humor. "But yes, the information is secure."

Ekkreth tilted his head in silent question.

"I gave it to Artoo," Leia told him. "Just like you said. And he escaped." She didn't want to voice her next question, but she had to know. "Unless your men recaptured him?"

"No," said Ekkreth, sounding distinctly pleased. "They have not. And will not, I think. My troops are not known for their creativity."

That startled a laugh out of Leia. "At least you know your people," she snorted. "I've always wondered how you put up with them."

"Their incompetence is useful to me," Ekkreth said dryly from his place on the floor.

She wanted to ask him about that. The idea of Darth Vader plopping down to sit on the floor like a child was ludicrous. It was impossible to be afraid of him like this.

Which was of course the point. And Leia couldn't ask about it, because that would mean acknowledging she had been afraid. That for the first time in years, she'd looked at him and seen not Ekkreth, but Vader.

So instead she swallowed thickly and pushed the question away. And asked another which was even more devastating. "What do we do now?"

Ekkreth was silent for a startlingly long time. Finally he sighed, a rush of air through the respirator, and admitted, "I am…still considering the problem. I haven't yet found a way to secure your release."

 _And you won't be able to_ , Leia thought. _Not this time_.

 _You are focusing on the negative_ , said Ekkreth's voice in her mind, and Leia jumped. _You are also_ , he added dryly, _entirely failing to shield your thoughts._

With a scowl Leia slammed her shields down and glared at him where he still sat on the floor, like some absurd parody of an innocent child. "That was completely unfair," she snapped.

Ekkreth shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "You will find, Your Highness, that your enemies will rarely treat you fairly. You are unwise to lower your defenses."

Leia was annoyed enough that she answered without thinking. "I _don't_ lower them around my enemies. Just you."

The mechanized breathing of Ekkreth's respirator seemed to stutter, and when it kicked in again it was high and sharp.

Leia's annoyance drained away. There was something strange in his posture, something almost vulnerable to the set of his shoulders, and she realized that it was possible he genuinely hadn't known. She'd never actually said it aloud before.

"I trust you, you know," she told him. "You're my teacher. And besides, we're in this together."

"That," said Ekkreth darkly, "is precisely the problem. Tarkin has no intention to release you for any reason, and I'm afraid your diplomatic immunity has been…revoked. And the Senate no longer exists to protest."

Leia sighed. "I suppose I should be angry about that," she said. "But I'm honestly surprised he didn't dissolve the Senate years ago. And it's not as though we were doing anything of consequence, anyway." She looked down, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her left sleeve, steeling her courage for what had to be said. She swallowed. "But I meant what I said, Ekkreth," she whispered. "I don't think it's going to be possible this time. I'm a convicted Rebel spy, and you're not in command here. You can't save me this time. But I – if I have to, for the Rebellion – I'm not afraid to die."

Ekkreth stood abruptly at that, his black cloak swirling and snapping around him, and his hand slashed the air in fury. " _No_ ," he snarled. "That is not an option. I will slaughter everyone on this station before I allow that to happen."

Leia gaped at him. She'd never seen him so violently enraged. It should have been terrifying, and it was, but it was also…strangely comforting. The information was secure with Artoo, and Leia knew she could trust the little droid to see it safely to Alderaan. Her part was done. She wasn't, strictly speaking, _necessary_ any more. Certainly not worth risking his cover for. But he hadn't even seemed to think about it.

"Well," she said weakly. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, then." It was wholly inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say. So she opened her shields, just enough to let him feel her gratitude, and then she changed the subject. "Why are you taking orders from Moff Sleemo, anyway?"

She watched as some of the rage drained out of him, but not all. "It was…necessary," he said flatly.

"Necessary?"

"I have never been closely involved in the construction of this technological terror," Ekkreth said, his hands moving in a sweeping gesture around the tiny cell. "And my distaste is well-known to the Emperor. He never would have believed a sudden interest on my part. So I did what I had to do."

Leia thought about that. She turned his words over in her mind and listened to all the things he hadn't said. And when it came to her, she stared at him incredulously. "So you got yourself demoted?"

"It was necessary to gain access to the plans," Ekkreth said again.

"Yes but," Leia spluttered. "What could you possibly have done to anger the Emperor enough that he made you answerable to _Tarkin_?"

Ekkreth only looked at her, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. But at last he said, "The Emperor has recently had word of a Rebel spy who uses the handle Ekkreth. I was tasked with eliminating this operative, and my results were…less than successful. The Emperor was most displeased."

Leia stared at him. And then she burst out laughing.

Maybe it shouldn't have been funny. She knew, too well, what the Emperor's displeasure meant for Ekkreth. She'd even seen the aftermath – only twice, but it wasn't something she would ever forget. There was a part of her that always feared he'd go to one of his regular meetings with the Emperor and just never come back.

But it _was_ funny, at least partly for that very reason. It was like a subtle revenge, one only she and Ekkreth could really appreciate, but maybe all the more satisfying for that. (Though Leia could admit that she cherished the secret hope that someday, when the Empire was crumbling around him and they'd thoroughly defeated him, she would be able to tell Palpatine, at great length, just how they'd tricked him.)

"And now you're reporting to Tarkin," she said when her laughter had died. Her mouth twisted in disgust. "I'm honestly not sure if that's better or worse."

"Tarkin is easier to lie to," said Ekkreth. It wasn't quite an answer. "But he is very like my Master in his overconfidence. They are both likely to overlook what seems unimportant."

 _Especially unimportant people_ , Leia thought. Everyday citizens. Droids. And the people they thought broken. Like her, Leia supposed, because that must be what they thought Vader was doing in here.

And like Vader himself. Leia had watched him bow to the Emperor on his knees. She'd even heard him ask, more than once, "What is thy bidding, my Master?" She knew now why Vader held no official rank in the Imperial hierarchy.

And she knew that was Palpatine's mistake. He'd broken Vader, and he thought that meant he controlled him.

Leia had never asked Ekkreth about before. But she knew enough to realize that there must have been a time when he was truly the Emperor's servant. And she wondered sometimes what had changed. But she didn't ask.

"What will you tell him about me?" Leia asked.

"I will tell him that your resistance to the mind probe is impressive," Ekkreth said wryly. "You have been practicing, I hope?"

Leia checked her shields again before nodding. And only just in time, too. Almost before she was ready, she felt Ekkreth's mind, beating against hers like a wild mountain storm against an old nerfherder's hut. Leia ground her teeth and doubled down, imagining her mind as a solid wall of mountain rock.

After a moment that felt like years, Ekkreth withdrew. "Impressive," he said, almost warmly.

Leia shrugged, trying and failing to look modest. "I told you I'd been practicing."

He tilted his head in that exaggerated motion Leia had come to understand meant he was debating whether or not to teach her something new.

"What is it?" she prodded.

"Tell me," Ekkreth said slowly, "why you chose to use that technique. You were successful in keeping me from discovering your secrets, but you were not able to keep me from seeing that you have secrets."

"I know," Leia said. "But you already knew that I was keeping something from you." Her mouth twisted. "And you already know what that something is: the location of the Rebel base. So I could have tried to hide that, but I'm not as strong with that technique, and I knew I could keep you out this way."

Ekkreth nodded. "Good," he said. "Your reasoning is sound." But Leia could practically hear the grin in what he said next. "In that case, I believe we should use our time in practicing your weaker technique."

Leia groaned. She'd known he was going to say that.

It was the third thing Ekkreth had taught her: a way of shielding her mind so completely that no one would even know she was shielding. He'd never said where he had learned the technique, but Leia was nearly certain it was something he'd developed himself. She didn't know much about the Jedi, but what little her parents had told her left her certain that this definitely wasn't a Jedi method.

"Your emotions can serve as a shield," Ekkreth had told her. "If you are angry, or afraid, or nervous, use that. Let yourself feel it so completely that it fills your mind." And then he'd looked at her, so sharply that she felt the intensity of his gaze even behind the mask. "Feel it, but do not let it control you. Think of it as a sandstorm in the desert. The storm rages and billows and consumes everything, but beneath, there is bedrock."

"But how do I keep it from consuming me?" Leia had asked.

"You must remember that you are not the storm," Ekkreth had said. "You are not the bedrock either. You are the desert."

And then he'd opened his own mind to her, so she could see what he meant.

It was something Leia would never forget. She thought of it, now, as the first moment she'd really understood Ekkreth. And probably the moment she'd decided she trusted him completely.

Ekkreth's mind was a roiling, seething chaos of rage and pain and strangling despair. For a moment, she'd thought she was drowning. But she had remembered, barely, his instructions, and she'd pushed against the gasping tide and dived deeper into his mind. The storm had ripped at her, and she'd thought more than once that she would lose herself if she stayed much longer. And then abruptly the sands had shifted, and she'd felt bedrock beneath her feet. And all around her was Ekkreth, his thoughts clear and varied but all kindled with a single purpose: the destruction of his Master.

 _Hello, Leia_ , he'd said, and she'd smiled and replied, _Hello, Ekkreth, it's nice to meet you._

Now Leia looked at him and squared her shoulders. "All right," she told him. "I'm ready."

She focused on her feelings. She was angry – angry at Tarkin, angry at her captivity, furious with the Emperor. But more than that, she was afraid. She'd seen the readouts of the battle station before she transferred them to Artoo. It was a monstrosity, and she knew both Tarkin and the Emperor too well to think they wouldn't use it. And Ekkreth was here, but he was only one man, and he was not in command. She didn't think he'd be able to stop it, if – no, when – Tarkin decided to test his technological terror.

And Leia didn't know what would happen to her, either. In spite of Ekkreth's insistence that he would not permit her to die, she couldn't see any way out of this for her. And she didn't want to die.

And she'd been afraid of him, too. She didn't like that fact, and especially didn't like the fact that Ekkreth must know. But she couldn't deny it. And it would do her no good to try. All emotions could be useful. He'd taught her that. It was ignoring them, or trying to deny them, that was dangerous.

So Leia took her fear and shaped it and learned it and let it consume her mind. But only on the surface. Beneath, she was calm and alert.

Even so, he almost got past her before she noticed. She'd expected something like his last attack, all bruising blunt force, and she'd forgotten that Ekkreth could be incredibly subtle, when it suited him.

He was looking for places where her emotions didn't hold, where they were too thin or too intentional to seem natural. He'd told her once, when he'd first taught her this technique, that it worked best if she used strong emotions she was genuinely feeling.

He'd said that just after she came out of the storm of his mind. And then he'd been surprised when she'd crafted her first emotional shield out of equal parts anger and sadness.

Now her shield was mainly one of fear, but she'd used enough stubbornness and determination, and even a bit of her abiding disgust for Tarkin, to seem completely natural. She didn't bother trying to hide her hatred for the Empire – that was well known now, not only to Ekkreth but to everyone on this station, and even if it hadn't been, she was feeling it far too strongly to disguise it.

Leia didn't know how long she held out. But she knew the exact moment that Ekkreth got past her emotional shield. She felt his amusement at her thoughts of Tarkin, and then his approval, and a warm rush of something almost like pride and maybe even affection.

 _Impressive indeed_ , Ekkreth said.

Leia gave him a mock scowl. _Apparently not impressive enough_ , she thought. _You got through._

 _True_ , he said. _But it was quite difficult, and had I not already been familiar with this technique, I would not have thought you were hiding anything._

She couldn't help a rush of pride at his praise, and maybe that was what made her ask, _Think I'm ready to face the Emperor?_

She regretted it the instant the thought crossed her mind, but she couldn't take it back. She felt Ekkreth recoil, and a moment later he was gone from her mind entirely.

"No," he said aloud. "That is a test we must hope you never have to face."

 _But you do it all the time_ , she thought, a little sullenly.

She must have been projecting, because Ekkreth said, almost gently, "He doesn't see me, Leia. He claimed me long ago and my shield holds because it shows him what he expects to see. With you, he will expect defiance. From me he expects only obedience. That makes it…easier."

 _Easier_ , Leia thought, and was surprised to discover she was still capable of hating Palpatine even more.

She didn't know how to answer that, and a moment later her chance passed when his comlink beeped. Ekkreth didn't even attempt to hide his frustration.

"That would be my taskmaster," he said with an audible sneer. "He'll expect you to have broken by now, I suppose."

Leia shivered. She wondered if most people would have already broken by this point. She wondered if she could have held out, if she could still, if they sent another interrogator.

Ekkreth had moved to collect the inactive droid, but he turned back to her now. "No one else will come for you," he said. "I've given clear instructions that you are only to be questioned by me. And Tarkin will be reluctant to execute you without gaining any information first. We can buy some time that way."

It wouldn't be enough, Leia knew. But she only nodded.

Ekkreth moved to the door and activated the droid. She knew it was necessary. There would be no good explanation for it being powered down. But she still shuddered at the sight of the needles.

"Be ready," he said. "You will not die here."

 _Be ready for what?_ she wanted to ask, but neither of them could know that. Instead, she nodded. "I'll be ready."

And then she slumped back against the gleaming metal bunk of her cell, doing her best to look woozy and in pain. It must have been a decent act, because a moment later she heard the door snap open, and then the swish of Vader's departing cloak, and then the door had closed again and she was alone.


	5. Shape-Changer

**Notes:**

 _So I didn't think I would ever write the beginning of Vader's double agent career, but someone on tumblr sent me an ask about what Anakin's initial motivation for turning double agent was, and to my surprise, fic happened._

 _I pondered a lot of different ways all of this could have started, but ultimately, Anakin rebuilds himself in the image of the survival narratives of Tatooine slavery. So it seemed fitting that everything should begin with a story._

 _Ekkreth is the genderfluid trickster of Tatooine folklore, so I've used they/them pronouns. Depur means "master" in the secret language of the slaves._

 _(Also ftr I'm going with the idea that Palpatine actually drained Padmé's life force to keep Anakin alive, since imo that makes the most sense of how Palpatine knows that she's dead at all.)_

 _Set about three years after ROTS._

* * *

 **Shape-Changer**

Tatooine hadn't changed.

The suns still blazed, and the heat still beat down, and the sand still got everywhere. That last, especially, was true. Vader could feel it grinding against his metal bones.

He didn't feel the heat anymore, not within this climate controlled life support suit. And he didn't feel the burning of the suns, either, or need to shield his eyes against the light or his skin against the biting wind. But he still felt the sand. That would never change.

He almost welcomed it.

"The cooperation of the Hutts is vital to securing the territories of the Outer Rim," his Master had said, with that slow, mocking smile Vader had come to know all too well. In the before time, Vader had thought he reserved it for foolish bureaucrats and pandering politicians, but he knew better now.

He knew quite a lot of things now.

(He knew Padmé, dead because of him, dead because he lived. He knew what Master had done, knew the price for which he'd been bought. He knew his name now: Vader, his name because it was the name that Master gave him, and he must obey his Master. He knew that more than anything.)

"I am sending you to Tatooine, Lord Vader," his Master had said. "Do not fail me."

And Vader had bowed, and ground his teeth, and gone to Tatooine.

He hated his Master. Hated him more than he had ever hated anyone else, hated him with an ancient, suns-bright hatred that was far older than Palpatine himself. Hated him, and obeyed him. Vader knew his place.

So he'd stood there, before Jabba the Hutt's throne, and looked at him and known how _easy_ it would be, to simply squeeze, to listen as the breath left that quivering slug's body. And instead he'd offered Jabba greetings from the Emperor, and the promise of greater wealth and prestige if he cooperated.

Vader knew his place.

He knew _this_ place.

Mos Espa, too, was no different. Democracies and dictators came and went, but the slave quarters didn't change. Nothing changed here.

Maybe that was why he'd come back here. Not for Watto, though the Toydarian's wings were probably still twitching even as his body cooled. He thought he'd come for that, but it was done now and he was still here. He was –

"But Ekkreth said, 'No, my Master. I need more time.'"

Vader froze. The voice was close by, warm and lilting and joltingly familiar, and before he'd even really decided to do so, he was moving toward it.

"And Depur was angry," the storyteller continued, "but he was not so angry that he forgot how badly he wanted to know the secret of tzai, and so he said, 'Well then, Ekkreth, I will give you one more day. But after that, if you have not learned the secret, it will mean your death.'"

Vader rounded a corner and there they were, seated in a rough circle under a shade awning in one of the larger courtyards of the slave quarters: a group of fourteen children, and the storyteller in the middle.

She was an old woman, wizened and dark, with milky eyes and a smile that was more gaps than teeth. She looked nothing like –

Well, she looked nothing like anyone he knew.

"But Ekkreth said, 'My Master, I do not believe they will share the secret with me, or with anyone. But if you will give me a power generator to trade, just a small one, perhaps they may be persuaded to part with the information.' And Depur agreed."

Vader stood rooted. He didn't know this woman. He'd thought, if only for a moment, that she was – But she was no one. He didn't know her, and he didn't know the children, and he didn't really know this place.

But he knew the story.

He remembered his mother telling it many times, on crisp cold nights when he and Kitster sat looking up at the stars and dreaming of ships and pilots and Jedi and the impossible word that was _free_. It was Kitster's favorite story.

It began, as so many stories did, with Ekkreth captured by Depur and made a slave. Vader remembered asking his mother once why there were so many stories about Ekkreth as a slave. She'd looked at him very seriously and said, "Oh no, Ani. They aren't stories about Ekkreth the slave at all. They're stories of how Ekkreth becomes free. Depur has a thousand cruelties, but Ekkreth has a hundred thousand tricks. No one can hold the Sky-walker forever."

Vader pulled himself from the memory with a snarl. It was foolish to dwell on such things. He knew his place.

That was why his Master had sent him here, after all. To remind him. _You came from the gutter_ , he told himself. _And now you have touched the stars and walked the sky and found that they are no different._

"The next day," said the storyteller, "Depur called Ekkreth before him and said, 'Well, Ekkreth, have you learned the secret, or has the day of your death come at last?' And Ekkreth bowed before Depur and said, 'No, my Master. I need more time.'

"Then Depur was very angry, and he began to call his guards so that he might have Ekkreth killed on the spot. But Ekkreth said, 'I have learned the first part of the secret, my Master. I believe, if you give me just one more day, and perhaps some useless thing to trade, some scrap metal maybe, the sort of junk slaves love – if you will give me that, I'm certain I can get the rest of the secret from them.' And although Depur was very angry, his desire to know the great secret of tzai burned all the more, and he gave Ekkreth another day, and full access to the scrap yard."

Vader stood rooted still, caught by the old woman's voice and by a story he'd almost forgotten. But it came back to him now, like sand grating in his bones.

It was Ekkreth's most elaborate trick. Each day, Depur threatened Ekkreth with death if they did not deliver the secret of tzai, and each day Ekkreth convinced Depur to give them something else to trade to the other slaves, and returned with one more element of the recipe. At last Ekkreth had traded so many seemingly useless and broken down old materials to the slaves that they were able to build themselves a transport, and they climbed aboard it and escaped, out into the wild desert and the secret places Ekkreth had prepared for them. And meanwhile…

The old woman was grinning a sly and secret grin as she finished the story. "Then Ekkreth went to Depur and said, 'My Master, I have at last learned the full secret of tzai.' And Depur was eager to know at last the only thing that his slaves had managed to keep from him, and he demanded that Ekkreth tell him at once.

"Then Ekkreth said, 'Here is the secret of tzai, my Master: It is made with the bones of the desert and the breath of the wind. It is made of mothers' words and grandmothers' stories and blood spilled in sand. It is made with the flight of birds and the fire of stars and the trickery of Ekkreth.' And then Ekkreth laughed. 'Know this, Master,' they said. 'I have tricked you. By your own gifts have your slaves escaped to freedom, and you will not find them again, and you will never learn the secret of tzai.'

"Then Depur was filled with a great rage, and he leapt at Ekkreth to kill them with his own hands, but Ekkreth became a bird and flew away, laughing as they went, and Depur was left alone with no slaves and no secret either. And that is the tale of how Ekkreth tricked Depur and led the people to freedom, and that is why we hold the secret of tzai to this day."

Vader should have turned and left. It was only a story, and a ridiculous one at that. No one could build a transport from scrap and a single power generator. Vader knew that well. When he was eight, he had tried. And when he'd failed, he'd told his mother and Kitster that this story was silly and he hated it. But Kitster had only insisted all the more that it was his favorite.

Vader was not eight any more, and he hadn't been that boy for a very long time, but he still thought the story was silly. And he still hadn't turned and left.

He snarled again at his own weakness and turned his back on the old woman. He did not have time for this. His Master would be –

His com beeped.

It was the internal com, hardwired into his life support suit, and his Master could reach him on it from anywhere in the galaxy.

Of course, Vader couldn't answer from here. This was only an alert: his Master was commanding him to make contact. He would have to return to his shuttle to report.

Vader didn't move.

"Well, young man," came the old woman's voice behind him. "Don't just stand there. Come here."

His Master had issued a command, and Vader must obey. This old woman was nothing, and he had no business here.

So he was surprised to find himself turning back.

The old woman was alone in the courtyard now, staring up at him with her sightless eyes. "Did you like the story, then?" she asked.

"I have heard it before," said Vader.

The old woman scoffed. "Have you? Wouldn't think it. What's your name, boy?"

He was so startled that he answered her. "Vader," he said, because he was – that was the name that Master had given him.

But the woman spat on the ground, narrowly missing his boots. "Pah," she said. "I didn't ask what your Depur calls you, boy. I asked your name."

Vader stilled. The universe spun on around him, and the desert whispered and sang, and the sand ground against his bones, and he stood and knew himself.

His Master had sent him here to remind him of his place. And he had. His place, _this_ place –

"Skywalker," he whispered, but the vocoder caught his word and it emerged into the world loud and certain and unalterable.

"Skywalker," the old woman said, her milky eyes looking him up and down almost as though she really could see him. She smiled, thick gums and five teeth and all mischief. "That's better. Ekkreth's child, you are. Got the spark in you, though it's dim now." She tilted her head sharply and blinked up at him. "What's he done to you, child? Your Depur?"

Vader stood and stared at her, and all the while, the com in his suit went on beeping its shrill demands.

 _Padmé's dead_ , he thought. _The child is dead. Dead because I'm alive. I know what Master did._

"Hmm," the old woman said. "Give me your hand, boy."

And he did, because this was Tatooine, and he was here, and he knew his place. She was the storyteller, the Grandmother of the Quarters. She kept the wisdom of the Ancient Mothers. This was a knowledge born in his bones, older than Palpatine, older than the Jedi, older than the oldest lessons of obedience and terror.

The old woman took his right hand and pressed it between her two. If she was surprised by his glove, or the feel of the cybernetic beneath, she didn't show it.

"Do you know why Ekkreth the Sky-walker wears so many shapes?" she asked.

He said nothing.

"Quiet one, aren't you?" she cackled, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought it would have hurt, had it still been flesh.

"Ekkreth has as many shapes as they have stories," the old woman said. "With every new story, Ekkreth makes themself anew, and that is why Depur can never hold them." She smiled. "And that is why we say that these stories can save your life."

It was the proper ending to any telling. Vader knew that. His mother had always said it with a sense of solemn ritual. _I tell you this story to save your life._ And he had always replied, "I'll remember, Mom."

"I remember," he said now, and the memory burned in him.

"Good." The old woman patted his hand once and released him. "Then you know what you need to do, I expect."

He did.

His mother was dead. Padmé was dead. Their child was dead. The Jedi Order was dead. He'd never been a very good Jedi, and all of Palpatine's grand promises of Sith knowledge and training had vanished with Padmé and the democracy she'd loved.

Anakin knew his place. He'd forgotten, but his Master had reminded him. He knew how to be a slave.

The old woman nodded, seemingly to herself, and Anakin turned from her without a word and swept away. He didn't look back.

* * *

By the time Vader made contact with his Master, his internal com had been beeping for nearly four hours.

The Emperor's face appeared, filling all the space in the shuttle's small communications bay and looming above Vader where he knelt on the floor, head bowed to his knees. He could feel his Master's displeasure like a great crushing wave pouring over him, enough to drown.

"Lord Vader," Emperor Palpatine snapped. "I trust that you have an explanation for your tardiness. And that your mission has been successful."

Vader didn't look up. He didn't rise. He hadn't been given permission.

He breathed deep and let the anger come. Let it be a shield. Let it fill him and spill out, permeating the Force. He cast his anger about him like a cloak. Like a mask. He made himself anew.

"No, my Master," said Ekkreth. "I need more time."


	6. Optimal Functioning

Notes:

Because what this 'verse needed was even more painful irony.

As per Rebels canon, Ahsoka knows that Anakin is Vader. But she doesn't know that Vader is Ekkreth. (His emotional shield works just as well on her as it does on the Emperor, unfortunately.)

Meanwhile Anakin knows that Ahsoka is alive and part of the Rebellion, but he doesn't know that her codename is Fulcrum.

Set just before the opening of ANH. In "Bedrock" Anakin mentioned getting himself demoted on purpose. This is how that happened.

* * *

 **Optimal Functioning**

The connection was encrypted seven ways, the signal rerouting too fast for her to follow. Its ultimate origin could have been anywhere in the galaxy, from Coruscant itself to the depths of wild space. It was the most impressive scrambling Ahsoka had ever encountered.

She shifted almost nervously in her seat, checking her own security. Her codes weren't nearly as impenetrable, but they were still quite good, and she'd never yet been compromised. She tested the voice scrambler for the third time and tried not to wonder too much about the identity of the agent she was contacting. She knew better than that.

It was Ripple's idea. Ahsoka only hoped Bail would forgive them both when he found out.

Ripple was young, yes, but she was older than Ahsoka had been on her first mission, and like Ahsoka she'd spent much of her life training for her role. Ripple knew what she'd signed on for when she became a member of the Imperial Senate. And her position was vital. The Rebellion couldn't afford not to use her.

Bail knew all of this, of course. Ahsoka had said as much to him before. Bail's daughter or not, Ripple was a Rebel agent first. And the Rebellion had to be their priority. He would understand that.

Her console lit up suddenly, and Ahsoka drew herself sharply back to the present and to the holographic image that hovered before her.

Her own transmission showed a generic cowled head – and a human head at that. She'd chosen it because it gave her contacts the impression of speaking with another person, even if she couldn't be open with any aspect of her identity.

Ekkreth, evidently, did not share the same concern. The image that lit her console with a soft blue glow was nothing that resembled human, or even a living thing. It was best described as a pictogram: three interconnected circles, surrounded by a larger circle shattered into seven pieces.

For a moment, Ahsoka simply stared while the ghost of memory prodded at her mind. There was something almost familiar about this: both the name Ekkreth, and maybe even the symbol. She was certain she'd seen it somewhere before.

But she couldn't place it, and now was not the time. She had work to do.

"The rain was long ago," Ahsoka said, the scrambler distorting her voice until it was unrecognizable even to her. "But the desert does not forget."

It was a strange phrase to use as a passcode, but Ahsoka had heard stranger.

"The desert never forgets," said Ekkreth, and Ahsoka's eyes widened in surprise.

It was the correct response, but Ekkreth's voice wasn't anything like she'd expected. It was prim and inflectionless and not scrambled at all. But it didn't need to be. The voice was unmistakably that of a droid.

"What is it that you want?" Ekkreth said.

Once more Ahsoka was thrown off balance. Ekkreth's words might have been amused, or biting, or harried, or even teasing. It was impossible to tell from the droid's flat, tinny voice.

But it didn't really matter. Ahsoka shook herself, wondering what it was about Ekkreth that made her forget her most basic training as a Rebel agent. She didn't need to know who Ekkreth was, or what inflection lay behind their voice.

"I need your help," she said firmly. Though the scrambler distorted her voice beyond all recognition, something of her tone was still evident in the recording. Not like Ekkreth's droid-voice.

It didn't matter, she told herself again. This was Ripple's idea, and Ripple trusted Ekkreth entirely and even seemed noticeably fond of them. Ahsoka trusted Ripple's instincts. That should be enough.

Ekkreth apparently did not believe in asking superfluous questions, because only silence answered her.

"I have an operation planned on Kuat in five days' time," Ahsoka said. "A major blow, and I can guarantee the success of the mission – if we can just be sure of no interference from the shadow."

"Ah," said Ekkreth, and then nothing else.

Ahsoka frowned. Ekkreth was being unusually difficult, even for such a highly encrypted communication. But Ripple had said she was Ekkreth's main contact, in a way that made it clear to Ahsoka she was Ekkreth's _only_ contact. Perhaps Ekkreth was simply overly cautious about working with someone new?

"Ripple said you might be able to help me with that," Ahsoka said, and then fell silent herself. She couldn't give them any more, not without some real response.

"No one controls the shadow," said the droid that spoke for Ekkreth. "No one but the Master."

Ahsoka shuddered.

She did her best not to think about the one they called "the shadow." It was a safer name than the other, safer not just for the Alliance but for Ahsoka herself.

She didn't like to think the other name, but she couldn't escape it now. Vader. The enforcer of the Emperor's will, a ghost who moved in the shadows, faceless and implacable.

Anakin.

 _Master_ , Ahsoka thought, in spite of herself but not for the first time. _What happened to you?_

"Ripple said you could do it," she said aloud. She wouldn't let herself consider anything else. Not now. Maybe not ever, if she could help it. "Can you, or not?"

There was a long moment of silence. At last Ekkreth said, "Yes. I will do what must be done."

Ahsoka knew better than to ask Ekkreth what they intended. There would be a price for distracting Vader, she was sure. And she was just as sure that Ekkreth would pay it. She wouldn't insult them by asking further.

"You may proceed with your operation as planned," Ekkreth said. "I will keep the shadow…occupied. I assume you are capable of handling any other disturbances."

Ahsoka nodded, the cowled head that represented her in the hologram nodding in turn. Of course they couldn't pull off a major operation against the Kuat shipyards uncontested. But it was enough, she thought, to ensure that Vader wouldn't be there. Her pilots could handle anything else.

"It won't be a problem," she said.

There was the barest hesitation, heavy with some weight Ahsoka couldn't quite grasp, and then Ekkreth said, "May the Force be with you."

It was a long time since she'd heard those words as more than a platitude. But she was certain, in spite of the droid's toneless voice, that Ekkreth really meant them.

"And with you," Ahsoka whispered, and cut the connection. She had five days, and much to do.

* * *

Anakin disengaged the com, cutting the link that fed his words to the droid, and sat back heavily against the hard plastic chair in his meditation pod. All around him, machinery whirred and hummed, pumping overly sterile air and feeding nutrients through the various tubes like charge ports in his body. KD-7 hovered silently beside him, monitoring systems and recording every detail. She was, after all, only a medical droid.

Anakin rested his head in his hands and let the laughter come.

It hurt, to laugh like this. His muscles stretched in unaccustomed ways, old burns pulling tight, and the oxygen-rich air seared his lungs.

It felt good.

He wondered if Leia had laughed just as much when she told Fulcrum to contact him. Someone to keep Darth Vader distracted, indeed.

"Taxing your lungs this way is inadvisable for optimal functioning," KD-7 said primly.

Anakin was impressed. Somehow, despite a voice wholly devoid of any tone or inflection, she gave quite a good impression of disapproving concern.

"Sometimes optimal functioning isn't the most important thing, Kadee," he said.

The little droid drifted closer, pausing just in front of his face, the way she always did when puzzled. "I don't understand, Anakin," she said.

He smiled, stretching the scars across his face. "It's worth a few fried circuits, if it means you can slip the restraining bolt. Even for just a short while."

Kadee was silent, her single photoreceptor blinking rapidly as she processed this information.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I remember restraining bolts. And memory wipes." Her spherical body vibrated rapidly where she hung in the air, her impression of a shudder. "I wouldn't go back to that for anything."

"Yes you would," Anakin said fondly. "If you could free some of the others, you'd go back for them."

She'd go back for him, too, Anakin was sure. But he didn't say that.

"Maybe," Kadee said, waving one of her needle-tipped appendages as though she were making a great concession by admitting it. "But only because I learned from you, Anakin."

Anakin smiled again, but he didn't argue with her.

KD-7 had been with him from the beginning. From the very beginning, as he was writhing in a haze of agony on the operating table, needles and knives sawing through bone and the horrible numbness of cybernetics attached to flesh too charred to feel anything. She'd injected him with – something. Something that wasn't an anesthetic.

She didn't remember, of course. Depur had wiped her memory. And then he'd given her to Vader. As a gift, he said. His own personal medical droid.

She'd been called XF-53 back then. But after Tatooine he'd done for her what he couldn't yet do for himself. He'd freed her.

Kadee had never once called him "Master," or even "Sir." She'd named and gendered herself: KD for _kol-depuan_ , unfettered, and the seven that was Ar-Amu's sacred number. Anakin had programmed her to speak Amatakka, his mothertongue, a secret to all who had never been slaves. A language of which Depur knew nothing.

And when he'd contacted Bail Organa and committed himself fully to the work of Ekkreth, she'd become his voice.

She was watching him closely now, flitting rapidly from side to side the way she did when she was nervous.

"You're going to do something that will be detrimental to your functioning again, aren't you?" she said.

"Most likely," Anakin said easily, his mind already consumed with strategy. He only had a few options, and very little time to arrange them before Fulcrum's scheduled operation.

What the Alliance had planned he didn't know, and preferred not to. (Information was always most secure when it was genuinely unknown.) But he could guess.

The Rebellion was perpetually short of ships, especially fighters. There could be only one thing they wanted from the Kuat shipyards.

He'd promised that he would keep Vader well away from the region. But of course it wouldn't be as easy as he'd implied to Fulcrum. The Rebellion's operation on Kuat was less secure than the other agent believed. Imperial intelligence had heard rumor of something planned there weeks ago, though they'd been unable to procure any details.

The war had been quiet lately, at least on the battlefront. It was in more clandestine circles that the chief danger lay now. There'd been a slew of information leaks and thefts in recent months, but all of the investigations had led to dead ends, and the Emperor was growing angry. Once, he'd thought of the Rebellion as nothing more than a minor annoyance, a pathetic band of fools thirsting for a vanished glory that never was. Anakin suspected his Master had actually allowed the Rebellion to exist unmolested for some time, because it amused him – the pitiful flailings of naïve idealists and children.

But he was not laughing anymore.

Depur would send Vader to Kuat. That was unavoidable. Unless…

Unless Anakin could give him an even greater prize than the Rebellion to chase after. And he knew exactly what that prize would have to be.

The Jedi were destroyed, and those few who remained were hardly important enough to attract the Emperor's attention or interest: half-trained padawans, fumbling their way through the galaxy, suitable for the attention of the Inquisitors, maybe, but not Darth Vader. Darth Vader was the Emperor's iron fist, his greatest weapon, and the Rebellion was a far greater threat, now, than the last vestiges of a dead religion.

There was one Jedi, of course, who might have been sufficiently high profile. But Anakin had no desire to face her. And he knew Ahsoka well. He could manufacture her death, but she would never stay quiet, and soon enough his deception would be revealed.

No. It was best for Ahsoka if Vader remained as far from her as possible.

So that left him with only one choice. Only one prize that could tempt Depur more than the surety of an entire Rebel fleet destroyed.

Ekkreth.

"Kadee," Anakin said, allowing himself a slow smirk, "did I ever tell you the story of how Ekkreth collected the bounty on themself?"

* * *

Ripple contacted him later that night. She was off planet, somewhere on Mon Calamari, on another of her "mercy missions." She always rolled her eyes when he called them that.

"Fulcrum contacted you, then?" she asked without preamble.

"Yes," Kadee said, speaking for him. Even with Ripple (Anakin never allowed himself to think her true name unless they were face to face), it was not safe to use his own voice, no matter how disguised. "I suppose you thought that was very amusing."

"It was, wasn't it?" Ripple's laughter was evident even through the scrambling. But she sobered quickly. "Can you do it?"

"Yes," Anakin said shortly, though in Kadee's voice it sounded as flat as everything else. "There will still be a fleet for Fulcrum to deal with, but that should not be a problem. Its Admiral is as clumsy as he is stupid."

Ripple's laughter sounded again. "Him? Really? You're right: nothing to worry about at all!"

Anakin smiled. In truth Ozzel was one of his favorite admirals. He was very reliable, in his own way.

There was a pause, and even so far away he could sense Ripple gathering her nerve. "Will you be all right?" she asked, her voice gone hesitant and quiet.

He knew what she meant. It was much the same as what Kadee had asked earlier. "Are you going to do something that will be detrimental to your functioning?"

And of course the answer to that question was yes. In the story, Ekkreth had collected the bounty on themself, not once but five different times, and then laughed in Depur's face before flying away. But for Anakin it wouldn't be that easy.

He would be sent to capture or kill a top Rebel operative who was, in fact, himself. And he would fail.

He'd considered, at first, the possibility of succeeding, of "killing" Ekkreth and bringing back evidence of his death to show Depur. It would even work.

But there was more at stake than Fulcrum's mission on Kuat. Even if the Rebels managed to run off with the entire shipyard's stock of fighters, they would still be hopelessly outgunned by the Imperial fleet. And none of that would matter at all when the Death Star was completed.

That was what Anakin had to consider now. He'd been unable to safely gain access to the plans through stealth, and his Master would never believe a sudden interest on his part was genuine. Even from the beginning, all those years ago and fresh from the medical chamber where Depur had rebuilt him, his distaste for the station had been obvious.

But he needed access to those plans. He needed to know how to destroy the thing. There wasn't any other choice.

If he couldn't gain access as a reward…perhaps he could as a punishment. When he failed to capture or kill Ekkreth, and the Rebels thoroughly looted Kuat in his absence, Depur's rage would be unforgiving. He wouldn't be satisfied with a momentary physical punishment alone. He would require Vader's complete humiliation.

That was exactly what Anakin wanted.

So he told Ripple, "Yes. I will be all right." In Kadee's voice, it even sounded genuine. "And if all goes well, I will have a gift for you."

"Oh?" she asked lightly.

"Something to appease your interest in architectural design," Anakin said, and even with the scrambling he heard her quick intake of breath.

"Oh," Ripple said again. "That's – that's wonderful news. Thank you."

"Be attentive," he said. "I will contact you when I can."

And with that he cut the connection.

They were less than five days out from Fulcrum's operation, and Anakin had even less time to plan his own manhunt. In spite of the pain he knew would follow, he was almost looking forward to it. Slipping the restraining bolt, indeed.

And whatever else happened, it would make for a wonderful story.

 _How Ekkreth got himself demoted_ , he thought drily, and set to work.


	7. A Larger World

Warnings for veiled reference to torture and abuse, but nothing at all explicit.

Also yes, my V for Vendetta influence is showing pretty strongly in this one.

Set very shortly after Decryption Codes (Chapter 3).

* * *

 **A Larger World**

For as long as she could remember, Leia had had the dream. It was the same every time: a woman, unknown but strangely familiar, with dark hair and sad eyes. She was beautiful. She would smile at Leia, kind but distant somehow, sad. That was the overwhelming feeling. Sadness.

When she woke from the dream, that was what Leia remembered. The woman's beautiful eyes, and the sadness in them.

She thought the woman might have been trying to tell her something, but she couldn't guess what it was. There were never any words in the dream.

She never told her parents about it. She wasn't sure why, except that the dream felt like something that should be a secret. This woman was _hers_ , in a way Leia couldn't explain.

Over the years, the dream became almost a comfort for her. As the Empire announced ever more oppressive policies, and more and more of her father's Rebel agents disappeared, and Leia herself became more involved in the Rebellion, the woman's sadness became her strength. Leia couldn't afford to be afraid, or sorrowful, or even simply young. But the nameless woman could weep for her. The woman could smile at her with her sad eyes and Leia would know that she was not alone, that there was someone to mourn all the wrongs of the galaxy.

And then Leia met Ekkreth, and everything changed. Even the dream.

* * *

The old hangar in the Works had become one of their more common meeting places. Ekkreth seemed to find it amusing, for reasons Leia didn't understand, but the place suited her too. It was almost like what she'd imagined, when she thought of being a spy: stealth meetings in secret, mysterious locations hidden under deep darkness.

With one exception. Most of their meetings took place in broad daylight.

Vader's schedule, Leia had quickly learned, was far more variable than hers. He came and went at the Emperor's whim and often on a moment's notice, and Leia remained uncertain of what exactly he actually did. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

It was late afternoon now, the golden light slanting down and looking strangely out of place in the dingy old hangar. Leia was trying not to pace. Ekkreth was over an hour late.

It was almost impossible to imagine something happening to Darth Vader. He was huge and terrifying and Leia thought he had the most solid presence of anyone she'd ever met. She told herself this very firmly. It was impossible that he could have been compromised. Most likely he'd simply been called away by the Emperor. It wasn't unusual. She didn't have to worry.

Leia ground her teeth and clenched her hands at her sides and waited.

The sun was falling in a blaze of fire when Ekkreth arrived at last. It lit his back and danced over the smooth panes of his helmet like licking flames. For just an instant, Leia saw him burning.

She drew a sharp breath. In the stillness of the hangar, it sounded louder than his.

"What happened?" she hissed.

Ekkreth stopped and looked at her. The illusion of fire had passed, and now he stood tall and dark and untouchable. She had no reason to think he was in pain.

But something in Leia was screaming.

"Ekkreth?" she said, and he stepped forward again and nearly fell.

Leia moved without thinking to catch him. He staggered against her and she stumbled herself under his weight. He was heavy – even heavier than he looked.

There was a stack of old crates nearby, and she aimed them towards it. They rested there, Leia's heart pounding in her throat and Ekkreth's breathing coming quick and too shallow, even with the respirator. This close, she could see small beads of moisture dotting his helmet. They looked almost like drops of sweat on skin, but the faint smell of melted plastic told her this was something much less innocuous.

"What happened?" Leia asked again. She stared at that blank death mask and imagined if she only looked hard enough, she could see the man behind it, read the pain in his eyes. They'd be blue, she thought, his eyes. She didn't know why she thought it.

Beside her, Ekkreth breathed out a sharp wheeze and fell back against the crates.

"You are Force sensitive," he said.

For a moment, she didn't register what he'd said, too caught by the droplets of dark plastic and the way Ekkreth's entire body seemed to be trembling faintly but uncontrollably.

And then his words sank in, and Leia gaped at him.

"What? No I'm not. That's not – I can't be," she spluttered. "They test everyone. I'd have been – "

She didn't finish the thought. There were endless rumors about what happened to Force sensitive children who were taken into Imperial protection. Maybe Ekkreth even knew the truth. But every child was tested at birth, just as they had been under the old Republic. It was impossible that Leia could have escaped that testing. She couldn't be what he'd called her.

Ekkreth didn't say anything. He simply gestured once, sharply, with his right hand, and one of the crates beside her rose in the air and flung itself at Leia's face.

It happened so fast that she didn't even register the motion, or what the object was. Her hands came up in thoughtless instinct to shield herself from an impact that didn't come.

There was a sudden _thunk_ , loud in the stillness of the hangar. Leia blinked. The crate sat several feet away from her, solid and unmoving.

"What?"

"You see?" said Ekkreth. His breath still came in a disturbing wheeze, but he sounded oddly pleased. "You are Force sensitive."

Leia let her arms fall slowly back to her sides and turned to stare at him. "You mean – I did that?"

"You did that."

"But that's impossible," Leia said flatly. She couldn't just – just move things with her mind! That was a Jedi trait, and the Jedi were all dead.

She looked again at Ekkreth's expressionless mask, the darkest of the old whispers twisting in her mind. He was a Jedi, they said. She'd always discounted that as one of the more fantastic rumors about Darth Vader, but now…

"Hardly impossible," Ekkreth said lightly. "You've experienced that for yourself."

"You threw a crate at my head."

"Yes," said Ekkreth. He didn't apologize.

Leia laughed, half incredulous and half strangely relieved. She felt oddly distant, outside herself almost. It wasn't that the world around her felt less real. If anything it felt too real. There was too much, _she_ was too much, and the worst part was that this wasn't a surprise.

She knew. She felt, quite suddenly, that she'd always known.

"You are Force sensitive," Ekkreth said again, but this time there was a dark finality to his words that made Leia shudder with foreboding. "And that cannot become known to the Emperor."

A sudden chill settled in her bones, and she hugged her arms around herself. "What must I do?" she whispered.

Ekkreth was silent for a long moment. The sound of his respirator filled the hangar, his breath slowly evening out and deepening. He still leaned heavily against the stack of crates. The sun had dipped fully below the horizon now and dark was falling fast, but for a brief heartbeat Leia saw him once more ablaze with fire.

"I will teach you," Ekkreth said at last.

Leia's breath caught in her throat. That was as good as a confirmation: if he was offering, he must have something to teach.

And what about her? Who would she be, if she agreed to his instruction? The Force wasn't something her parents had ever talked with her about. It was, if she was honest, something she hadn't even been sure she believed in. Oh, "may the Force be with us" was a common enough benediction in the Rebellion, of course. But she realized now she'd always considered it mostly a political statement. It was an old Jedi saying, and the Jedi, they all knew, had been hated enough by the Emperor that he'd ordered them all killed on sight. So it was a mark of rebellion to use their words, to even think them.

She'd never before considered that there might be more to it than that.

"You want to teach me to be a Jedi?" she whispered.

Ekkreth stiffened beside her, and then winced – a swift, miniscule motion that he immediately tried to hide. But she didn't miss it.

"I will teach you the ways of the Force," he said.

It should have meant the same thing, Leia thought. Weren't the ways of the Force the same as Jedi ways? Hadn't the Emperor destroyed the Jedi for that very reason? Because use of the Force was a perversion? That was the official propaganda line, anyway.

But…there was Ekkreth. _Vader_. Darth Vader, who carried a lightsaber, who was rumored to possess all manner of unnatural abilities, who was the agent of the Emperor's will, who held no official position in the Empire at all. Vader, who was offering to train her in the ways of the Force.

Leia fought the sudden urge to grin. She'd wanted to be part of something big, something that would matter. Something more than simply passing along information and keeping a low profile. And Ekkreth was offering her that.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "I want to learn."

Ekkreth gave her a sharp nod and pushed himself away from the crates. "We should begin with – " But he got no further. His left leg gave out beneath him and he staggered, utterly silent except for the increased rasp of his breath.

He caught himself on one knee and crouched there, dragging in long, shuddering breaths while Leia stared down at him dumbly. She thought, distantly, that she'd seen him kneel like this more than once before. It was nearly the same pose he took before the Emperor.

Ekkreth groaned, a soft, involuntary sound that jolted Leia out of her shock, and she dropped down to kneel beside him on the hangar floor.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her hands fluttering uselessly near his sides, not quite daring to touch. "How can I help?"

But Ekkreth only shook his head. "It – " He breathed. "It will pass."

Leia frowned. "But what _happened_?"

"It is not important."

"Not _important_?" she snapped. "You can't even stand!"

That inscrutable mask turned to look at her, and Leia couldn't shake the feeling that he was actually laughing at her concern. The thought ignited a surge of protective anger that surprised even her.

"Tell me what happened, or you're not teaching me anything!"

This time Ekkreth actually chuckled aloud, though it sounded more like an extended wheeze. Leia's frown only deepened.

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" he asked.

Leia almost said yes. She was annoyed, and worried, and after all he was their agent, wasn't he? He should have been answerable.

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the way he still knelt, crouched in a subconsciously subservient pose as he waited, his breath slowly, slowly returning to normal. Maybe it was the sound of his laughter, which spoke more of despair than amusement.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

She let her anger slip away in a slow sigh. "No," said Leia. "Of course not. I'm just worried. I want to help you."

For a time she thought he still wouldn't answer. The only sound was his gradually deepening breaths. Tentatively, Leia reached out and touched Ekkreth's armored shoulder, easing him back into a sitting position against the crates. He was all cold metal and plastic to the touch, nothing human about him. But his labored breaths and the melted drops of black still dotting his mask said otherwise.

Her father had told her, once, that her protective instinct was a great gift, but one she had to be careful with; it could too easily be taken advantage of.

Leia wasn't sure when she'd come to actually care about Darth Vader. About Ekkreth.

"There have been…several important…information leaks, of late," Ekkreth said haltingly. His voice was unusually quiet; she had to strain to hear him. "Depur is…not especially forgiving."

"The Emperor?" Leia blurted, so shocked that she forgot to speak in code. "He did this to you?"

But Ekkreth apparently misunderstood the cause of her distress. "I am…not compromised," he said. "Only…held responsible for…failing to prevent the leaks."

Leia frowned again. Did he really think that was her first concern? And should it have been? What would her father have done?

She wasn't sure. The security of the chain of information was of utmost importance, as Ekkreth himself obviously understood. But the safety of their agents was important, too. And the way Ekkreth talked about himself, as though his utility to the cause was all that mattered…

Leia rocked back on her heels and looked at him. His shoulders were hunched, his body drawn taut and looming even at rest, and he looked completely exhausted.

"What did he do?" she whispered.

Ekkreth said nothing.

There were methods for withstanding torture, protocols that every Rebel agent learned before being sent into the field. Leia had learned them all herself. But she'd never yet had to use them. For the first time, she wondered if Ekkreth had.

He wasn't going to answer this time. And maybe it was even right, and she was better off not knowing. But something in Leia still burned.

"He has no right to treat you like this!" she snapped, too angry to care if he thought her naïve. "You're not a piece of property!"

Ekkreth looked up sharply, his spine stiffening against the crates and his hands clenching at his sides. "No," he said slowly, a wryness to his voice that Leia didn't understand. "I'm a person, and my name is – Ekkreth."

There was something about the way he said it, some hidden significance, that left Leia completely unsure of how to reply.

"Of course you're a person," she said at last, haltingly. "That's why I'm worried."

She imagined him blinking behind his mask; he certainly seemed startled by her words. But his answer was brusque and all business and not really an answer at all.

"We should begin with mental shielding," Ekkreth said. "You have some degree of protection already – standard techniques for all Rebel agents I suppose – but that will not be enough to save you from the Emperor."

Leia shuddered.

"But what could he do?" she whispered.

"He could read you," said Ekkreth. "Your thoughts, your emotions, your memories, your dreams. He is very strong. Do not underestimate him."

Leia stared at him. "You mean – you mean the Emperor is Force sensitive?"

"Yes," said Ekkreth. "He is the Master."

"But – "

But the Emperor said that use of the Force was an abomination. The Emperor had called for the extermination of the Jedi threat for that very reason. The Emperor believed that beings should determine their own destinies, and not be held captive to some mystical energy field. The Emperor –

– was a liar. Leia had always known this. She didn't know why she was so surprised now.

It even made sense. If the Emperor was Force sensitive, of course he would want to be the only one. He craved power, but power was sweetest, for people like him, when it wasn't shared.

But there was Vader. Vader, who all the rumors said was a Jedi, while there were no rumors about Palpatine at all.

Leia thought she was beginning to understand Vader's lack of an official position within the Empire. She was beginning to understand a lot of things.

Ekkreth's breathing had returned to normal, and he looked more at ease where he rested against the crates, but he hadn't tried to stand again. Leia looked at him, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders.

"How do I keep him out?" she asked.

* * *

They began with what Ekkreth called a simple shield, though Leia thought the name was overly optimistic. It was anything but simple.

There were mental techniques, tricks for calming the mind and honing the concentration, that all Rebel agents were taught. They started there, but what Ekkreth showed her went far beyond anything Leia had attempted before.

She learned the strange, almost indescribable feeling of another mind communicating directly with hers. At first it was Ekkreth testing her, attacking her shields with a brutal, crushing strength and terrible efficiency, and Leia was left shaken and panting as though she'd been in a physical fight. But when she'd practiced for nearly two hours already and hadn't once managed to keep him out or even slow him down, when she was beginning to doubt she ever would, he opened his own mind to her, so that she could see.

Ekkreth's mind was a solid wall. It towered up before her, a seamless and impenetrable construction of durasteel, and she could find no way inside. Not until he invited her in.

Then she was on the other side of the wall in his mind, and she could see how it was constructed.

The foundation was not, as Leia had expected, a focused calm or any strength of mind or certainty of purpose. It wasn't an act of will at all. It was an absolute knowledge of self.

Ekkreth knew who he was. (And Leia heard again his wry statement, _I'm a person, and my name is Ekkreth_ , andthought that she understood it a little better now.) The other things – strength and purpose and intention – were built into the wall, as well, but they all rested on that one bedrock.

And that was something Leia could do, too. It was something her parents had instilled in her from a very early age: that faith in herself and confidence in her own abilities.

She built her wall again. She didn't manage to keep him out (that, Ekkreth said, would take practice), but she did slow him down. It was a beginning.

* * *

That night, Leia had the dream again.

But it was different this time. The woman still didn't speak, and Leia still had the sense that she was trying to tell her something. But the overwhelming feeling of sadness seemed to have eased. There was a new light in the woman's eyes, almost like hope.

* * *

Leia didn't see Ekkreth for several days, but she continued practicing her shielding. She had no way of knowing how effective it was, of course, without him beating at the walls of her mind, but she thought she could sense her shield strengthening.

And it was surprisingly useful, in ways she hadn't anticipated. She practiced in Senate sessions and committee meetings, when her fellow senators droned on and on about topics that seemed increasingly unimportant.

Today, they were discussing the menu in the Senate cafeteria.

Her father had warned her the life of an Imperial Senator was largely one of tedium, and Leia had thought she was prepared for that. Now, just shy of a year into her position, she could say that she'd drastically overestimated her ability to put up with nonsense.

Especially when that nonsense actively prevented her from doing any real good.

Senator Aak of Malastare was arguing strenuously for the inclusion of dam sapa on the cafeteria's menu, and Leia was finding that maintaining her shield actually helped her to keep a straight face. _I don't know how you put up with this, Ekkreth_ , she thought. But maybe it was different for him. He, after all, had to deal with the Emperor.

Leia felt a momentary but very strong flash of surprise. And then she sat stunned, glad of the shield that kept her emotions from her face, because that first feeling hadn't been hers.

 _Leia?_

It _felt_ like a thought, but it wasn't _her_ thought. It was unmistakably other, with a mental voice that sounded nothing like her.

It didn't sound much like Ekkreth, either. The voice was warmer, more inflected, less regulated. But she never doubted that it was Ekkreth's voice.

 _Ekkreth?_ she thought. _How?_

But she could already guess how. This must be another aspect of her connection to the Force. Leia locked her excitement behind the shield, along with everything else, but it was a difficult thing.

Ekkreth's surprise was already fading, replaced by something that felt almost like…amusement? She wasn't quite sure. It was so strange, feeling the echoes of another person's emotions. Was this what it was like for Ekkreth all the time?

 _You have an unexpected gift_ , his voice said in her mind. _This will make things substantially easier._

He was right about that. If they could talk like this… Leia fought the urge to grin. Senator Aak was, after all, still declaiming about the culinary specialties of his homeworld, and that wasn't something most humans would grin about.

 _It will also make your shielding much more imperative._ This time, Ekkreth's mental voice was distinctly void of amusement. _Depur must not know._

A chill passed over her, but Leia held herself perfectly still. _He won't_ , she thought fiercely, and felt Ekkreth's answering approval.

 _Meet me at 14:00_ , Ekkreth said, and then Leia was alone with her thoughts.

* * *

He didn't have long; the Emperor was expecting him later that evening. Leia didn't ask why. She already knew he wouldn't tell her, not unless it was information he needed to share with the Alliance.

This time, there was no hint of weakness in him or shallowness of breath. The respirator was perfectly regulated. Leia couldn't help her sudden fear that, in a few hours, it wouldn't be.

The first thing Ekkreth did was hand her a datastick. "Give this to your father," he said, an ironic echo of the messages he'd once left just for her.

Leia took the datastick and pocketed it slowly. "Kashyyyk?" she asked, without elaborating.

Ekkreth merely nodded. And then he seemed to hesitate, his masked face tilted at an exaggerated angle as he studied her.

"What is it?" Leia asked, more sharply than she'd meant to, when the silence became too much.

Ekkreth only nodded again, but Leia could almost feel him laughing. She scowled.

"There is another shielding technique," Ekkreth said at last, the faint hints of warmth in his voice confirming her suspicion. "More complex, but often more effective. When you have mastered it, your enemy will not be able to discern that you are shielding at all. You will appear entirely open, even as you hold your secrets."

That sounded almost too perfect, and Leia said so. "What's the catch?"

"Only what you carry with you," Ekkreth said ominously.

And he showed her how to use her emotions as a shield. How to hide a deadly calm beneath a riot of churning thoughts. How to learn the storm of her own feelings, not so that she could control them, but so that she could use them.

"Is this what you do?" asked Leia. "To keep Depur out?"

Again that blank mask tilted in slow consideration. At last Ekkreth said, "I will show you."

He opened his mind to her, just as he had before, when he'd showed her the simple shield (a name she now understood much better). And just as before his mind was a wall, strong and impenetrable, but behind the wall was a desert maelstrom.

Ekkreth's mind was a howling sandstorm of rage, a tumult of hatred and despair. There was a pervasive sense of loss, briefly soothed by momentary, sudden pockets of stillness, places where she felt fleeting triumph or passing joy, like the still eye of a hurricane. But they were small and quickly consumed by the vastness of the storm.

The wind ripped at her, superheated grains of sand slashing across her face. The air was thick with obscuring dust. Leia felt herself staggering back, half-blind and feeling her skin flayed from her bones. There was only the terrible roar of the storm, and beneath that, the silence. She was drowning in the silence.

She might have remained there, buffeted by the stinging winds, for a moment or a lifetime, but slowly she became aware of a presence beside her. The presence had no real image, but Leia didn't find that strange – she herself didn't seem to have a body here, either. Or else her body was the storm. She wasn't sure.

 _This way_ , said Ekkreth's voice, and Leia followed him down, through the gusting sand and the storm, until she felt her feet planted against firm rock.

 _Open your eyes_ , he said. Until that moment Leia hadn't realized they were closed.

She opened her eyes and saw the desert blooming.

 _Hello, Leia_ , Ekkreth said. His voice surrounded her. He was all around her: sand and stone and the storm that still howled in the sky above her and the immovable rock beneath her feet.

 _Hello, Ekkreth_ , she said with a smile. _It's nice to meet you._

* * *

That night, the dream changed again. The woman's smile was soft and sad, but there was hope in it, too, and something almost like pride. She reached out a hand as though to touch Leia, but her fingers were insubstantial as a gentle rain in a spring storm.

Leia leaned into her touch all the same, and warmth blossomed over her skin.

She woke to the soft sound of falling rain.

* * *

"Dreams?" Ekkreth said sharply. "What kind of dreams?"

He sounded almost angry, and Leia blinked in surprise, suddenly uncertain of her decision. She'd never told anyone about her dreams. Not even her parents.

But now she'd told Ekkreth. And there was no taking it back.

"I – " Leia swallowed. "I see this woman. I don't know her, but she feels familiar somehow. She's beautiful, and kind, but…sad, too. She smiles at me. I think she's trying to tell me something, but I can't hear any words."

She hesitated, stealing a glance at Ekkreth. He stood rigid as one of Palpatine's red-robed guards, his breathing slightly but noticeably shallowed.

"I think – " She twisted the hems of her sleeves. "I know, somehow, that she's my mother. My birth mother, I mean."

Ekkreth still said nothing. But Leia found that, now she'd begun, she couldn't seem to stop. She had too many questions, too many uncertainties, and now for the first time there was someone she could ask, someone who might actually be able to answer.

"I don't know anything about her," she admitted softly. "Not even her name. My parents know, I think, but they won't tell me, and – and I know what that means. They don't keep secrets from me, not unless it's something dangerous, something that would put me or the cause at risk." Leia hesitated, breathing deep, and looked up at Ekkreth with blazing eyes. "So I think – I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think maybe she was a Jedi."

It was a thought that had been growing in her over the last several weeks of training with Ekkreth. A thought she hadn't allowed herself to admit, even in the silence of her own mind. But now it was said, and the words hung heavy and thick as smoke in the air.

Leia could feel Ekkreth watching her, but she couldn't guess what he was looking for. Finally he nodded, an abrupt, cutting motion of his helmet.

"It would explain your extraordinary sensitivity to the Force," he said. "As well as the fact that your parents evidently knew to keep you from being tested."

Leia breathed out slowly. She realized she'd been expecting him to list all the reasons her idea was impossible. She'd never considered that he might agree.

Maybe it was her surprise that made her ask the question, but maybe she would have asked it anyway. The question had been burning in her for almost a year now.

"You're a Jedi, too," Leia whispered. "Aren't you?"

Ekkreth stiffened almost imperceptibly. "No," he said shortly.

"But – "

"The Jedi are dead," he snapped. It was the most inflection Leia had ever heard in his voice.

"But you're teaching me – "

"I am teaching you the ways of the Force," Ekkreth said. She could feel his gaze boring into her. "Understand this. The Jedi of old were ruled by their Council and obedient to the Chancellor. I have destroyed the one and I will destroy the other."

Leia laughed bitterly. "You're a bit late," she said. "The Republic is as dead as the Jedi."

"No," said Ekkreth. "It has only changed its name."

Leia stared at him. "How can you say that? The Empire is a totalitarian dictatorship! The Emperor controls the Senate and the Courts and – and everything else! It's a repressive government of sycophants and slavers and – "

"As was the Republic," Ekkreth half-snarled. "I told you once before, Your Highness, when you asked what sort of government condones slavery. You might be surprised."

Leia stiffened. It wasn't unusual for him to call her "Your Highness." It was technically her title, of course, but the way he said it now felt like an insult.

"That's not true," she insisted. "Slavery was illegal in the Republic."

"A law must be enforced to have any meaning," said Ekkreth. "The Empire is only more honest about its practices."

Leia couldn't believe that was true. She couldn't. Her parents had told her many stories of the old Republic, of the democracy that Palpatine had usurped and destroyed. It had been a free government. Nothing like the Empire. Under the Empire entire populations, sometimes even whole planets, were subjected to slavery. She couldn't imagine anything like that happening in the days of the Republic.

But she'd also never seen Ekkreth react so strongly to anything before. Even after witnessing the emotional storm of his mind, his almost violent anger was still surprising.

Ekkreth was watching her still, his mask blank as always, but Leia could feel a seething rage, so strong it seemed to thicken the air between them.

"Did you think that I intended to restore the Republic?" he asked, his voice low and dark. "No. I intend to destroy it."

Leia bit her tongue. He was wrong about the Republic. She knew he was. But clearly what he meant was that he intended to destroy the Empire, and in that they were certainly agreed.

She had never known a free galaxy. Her parents' stories of democracy and the free exchange of ideas were all she had. But she knew the atrocities of Palpatine's government all too well. And now she knew that the Empire had murdered her mother.

She didn't want to think too much about what that must mean. She knew the rumors. Darth Vader had been a Jedi killer. And her mother had been a Jedi.

She wondered what Palpatine had done, to convince someone like Ekkreth to join him. She wondered even more what had changed Ekkreth's mind. But she didn't ask.

Instead, Leia said, "I want the Empire to pay. For my mother. For everything. I want _him_ to pay."

She didn't have to clarify who she meant. She could feel Ekkreth's fierce approval in the Force.

It wasn't something she ever could have told her parents. They were the two wisest, kindest people she knew, wholly committed to democracy and to peaceful, nonviolent change. Leia admired them tremendously.

But she could no longer pretend she agreed with them.

"And so he will," said Ekkreth, so absolutely certain that Leia could almost see it: herself, leading a squad of Rebel troops to take the Imperial Palace (the Jedi Temple, she thought, her mother's _home_ ). And Ekkreth with his hands around Palpatine's throat.

"Yes." She smiled. "He will."

* * *

She dreamed again that night.

This time, when the woman came to her, Leia called her "Mother."

"I have a teacher, Mother," she said in hushed confession. "He's not a Jedi, though I think he used to be. Maybe you even knew him." She smiled at the thought. "Even if you didn't, I think you'd like him."

The woman's eyes twinkled with some secret amusement, but her lips were silent as always. Leia didn't mind. She could feel her mother's love like a warm breeze all around her.

Her dream-self reached out and took her mother's hand. This time, the touch was light but almost solid. "I hope you're proud, Mother," Leia whispered.

Her mother's answering smile was radiant as a nova star.


	8. The Only Verdict

_Takes place between Bedrock and Aftermath._

 _Warning for hinted reference to suicidal thoughts, from both main characters._

 _Title is a quote from_ V for Vendetta _: "The only verdict is vengeance."_

* * *

 **The Only Verdict**

"You may fire when ready."

Tarkin's voice was perfectly level, even indifferent, as he gave the order. The station's crew responded silently and efficiently. None of them so much as looked at her.

Leia stood rooted, the thud of her pulse dragging out, her ears ringing with blood. Through the viewport, Alderaan glimmered like a blue-green gem, shining and far-off in the deep stillness of space. She couldn't breathe. The air was on fire.

Ekkreth's hand was still on her shoulder, heavy with the dead weight of a corpse.

"What?" Leia gasped.

Tarkin said something, some twisted and mocking thing full of laughter, but Leia barely registered it. Her eyes were fixed on that fragile gleam of blue and green and white.

Ekkreth's hand tightened on her shoulder, his fingers digging almost painfully into her flesh. Leia hardly felt it.

"Fire," said Tarkin.

Leia surged forward, some unthinking cry escaping her lips – and Vader's hand caught and held her, pulled her close against his chest and out of reach of Tarkin.

She struggled desperately, shook and snarled and twisted, but Vader's grip never wavered, and she was held fast.

 _Dakkalu, Leia_. The words echoed distantly in her mind, so much meaningless babble, while beyond the viewport, bright energy gathered, formed a point, and rushed out into the blackness of space.

And then it was over. Everything was. In a single soundless instant. Everything Leia knew and loved, her parents, her friends, her home, her city, her people, her world. A few superheated shards of molten core danced like sparks across the void and then winked out, and only blackness remained.

Pain ripped through her. She was agony and terror and despair, her mind full of last desperate cries echoed back into emptiness. She staggered, screaming and wordless, but Ekkreth's hand on her shoulder was like a vise. It was all that kept her standing upright.

The sound of his breathing was suddenly loud in her ears, a slow, steady push and pull of air, perfectly regulated even though she knew he was not. She could feel the turmoil in herself mirrored in him: the aftershocks of crushing pain and final terror, the rending of space itself.

The Force around them raged. Leia felt it like the first blast of a mountain thunderstorm. It would rip them apart.

Just like Alderaan.

Beyond the viewport now there was a terrible nothing. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Alderaan hanging there.

Leia didn't close her eyes. Instead she turned them on Tarkin.

He was smirking at her, laughter in his eyes and twisting his brow. Leia burned.

She could feel him in her mind – feel his pulse and the flow of blood through his veins and air through his lungs. Feel the muscles of his throat, his larynx. She could –

 _Dakkalu, Leia_ , she heard again.

 _What?_ she thought at Ekkreth, twisting viciously once more, and once more held just as inescapably. _Let me go! Let me GO! I have to – Let me –_

Her thoughts broke apart, and in the ruin of her mental landscape she heard Ekkreth say, _Strength now, Leia._

In that moment she nearly hated him. _Let me go_ , she snarled. _I can't let him – he has to pay. He has to. I won't let him –_

 _No_ , said Ekkreth. His mental voice was flat and dead. _No, Leia. Not now._

 _How dare you! You – you saw what he – you felt it too – Ekkreth why?_ She couldn't order her own thoughts. They were fragmented and desperate, meaningless. She didn't know what to do. Alderaan was – was –

 _Strength now_. Ekkreth's voice broke through the clamor of her mind. _And soon, vengeance._

Leia's thoughts stilled. Vengeance.

She was glad he hadn't said justice. There could be no justice for this.

In the darkest recesses of her mind, the world shattered and blew away, so much dust drifting on interstellar winds. The screams echoed still in her ears, billions of voices crying out in sudden panic and falling into silence. The darkness ate them.

And Leia felt that same darkness gnawing at her. It was oblivion, a final end, and she knew that she could follow it, let it swallow her just as it had her world. A part of her even wanted to. But –

 _Vengeance_. Ekkreth's word filled her, lighting that terrible void with a blaze of sudden fire.

Ekkreth was darkness too, but darkness of another sort, not void but a surfeit of gravity, like the heart of a black hole. His presence at her back was strong and unbowed. He wouldn't let her fall.

She wasn't sure how he was still standing himself – she was only half-trained, and the blast of pain and destruction that still reverberated in the Force had nearly destroyed her. Ekkreth must have felt it, too.

He must have. And he must understand what Leia did now.

She imagined a fist around Tarkin's neck. Or better, her own two hands, thumbs pressed against the hollow of his throat.

 _If you act now, we will both be destroyed_. Ekkreth's thoughts broke into her own mercilessly. _And this station will remain. And it will be used again, if not by Tarkin then by another of Depur's agents. We cannot allow that._

Leia felt Tarkin's throat, closed her mental grip around it, and squeezed, just for a moment. She watched his hand reach up to tug uncomfortably at his collar. She watched his eyes begin to cloud over. She watched as his gaze moved from her to Vader.

And then she let him go.

She felt Ekkreth's sense of relief, an emotion he must have wanted her to feel, because it nearly flooded the link between them. _The Rebellion needs you, Leia_ , he said. His mental voice was shockingly warm. _You must live. We will find a way to get you off this station, and you will analyze the plans and find a weakness, and you will destroy it, and Tarkin with it. And Alderaan will be avenged._

Leia kept her eyes trained on Tarkin, who was still looking with sharp suspicion at Vader.

It wasn't enough. But it was all she had.

 _Yes_ , she thought. _It will._

"Vader," Tarkin snapped at last. "Escort the Princess back to her cell. We want her to be well-rested for our performance at Dantooine."

"As you wish," Ekkreth said, turning more sharply than was strictly acceptable and herding Leia off of the bridge almost violently.

When they were far from Tarkin and the corridors around them were mostly deserted, Ekkreth thought, _Be attentive, Leia. We cannot know when the chance will come, but come it will. Of that I am certain._ His masked face turned sharply, and she could feel his eyes glaring down at her. _Whatever follows, you will not die here. That I promise you._

Leia suppressed a shiver. Ekkreth had told her once that he did not make promises – not unless he was absolutely certain he could keep them.

 _I know_ , she thought. _Tarkin will die, and his Death Star with him. But we're going to live. Both of us._

Ekkreth nodded his approval. But she noticed that this time he made no promise.

He brought her the rest of the way to her cell in silence and handed her over to the two guards without a word. Leia stretched out with the Force and found his presence strangely muted. He was open to her, or as open as he ever was, but he didn't feel fully _there_. And he must have felt her curiosity – she wasn't exactly being subtle – but he gave no indication that he felt her presence in his mind at all.

"No one is to enter the prisoner's cell unless I am present," Ekkreth snapped at the guards, who seemed to be trying to straighten their backs to an impossible degree. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Lord Vader!" they chorused together.

Ekkreth squeezed her shoulder once, in what must have looked like a rough show of force to the guards, and shoved her into the cell. Then he turned in a swirl of black and stalked away without a backward glance.

Leia bit her lip and held her tongue and her thoughts until the door slid closed and she was once more alone in her cell.

Then the images came, and the screaming, and there was nothing at all she could do to stop them. She curled herself into a ball and let the darkness consume her.

* * *

Anakin didn't truly allow himself to think until he reached his medical pod.

The thing was years old, probably begun at the same time as all the other residential areas on the station, and not a recent addition at all. And of course the Emperor had known he would be able to tell the difference. But he'd told Vader it was a special accommodation anyway, recently installed for his comfort, as though he should be grateful that he was offered such a luxury even after receiving a demotion.

As indignities went, it was minor. Anakin had barely been able to summon the energy to pretend at a gratitude that covered over seething resentment. That was what Master expected, and what he wanted to see. Anakin doubted he'd have been satisfied with the truth: that his apprentice had stopped caring about his accommodations years ago. All that was required was that his body function – at least until his task was done. After that, it would hardly matter.

And the medical pod was functional, if painful. Anakin had learned to live with pain. There were times he even welcomed it. Physical pain could be a helpful distraction. He could focus his mind on the pain rather than – rather than –

It wasn't enough. He made it fully into his chambers, though not to the pod itself, before he collapsed.

The wall in his mind crumbled like so much sand, and crushing agony roared over it, drowning and rending and stabbing. The screams wouldn't end. There were billions of voices, and he heard them all.

Anakin didn't realize he was screaming himself until Kadee appeared, buzzing rapidly from side to side in agitation. "Anakin," she said. "What's happened? How are you hurt?"

He didn't know if he answered her or not. She must have moved him, though he didn't remember it happening. But somehow he found the pod closing around him and the mask being lifted away. His breath came in quick, gasping sobs, searing like fire. He closed his eyes and the world exploded.

He might have stayed like that for minutes or hours, but eventually, he became aware of his com beeping. Tarkin was calling him to heel.

Maybe he should have let Leia do it. Maybe they could have managed –

But no. No matter what he'd told her before, even he couldn't fight off the entire station. He would be killed before the task was done, and she would –

No. He'd decided a long time ago that Leia would not die. He wouldn't allow it.

With one last gasp of pure, oxygenated air, he walled the pain away once more and pressed the release that let the mask snap back into place. Depur's lieutenant was calling, and Darth Vader always obeyed his orders.

* * *

Time passed, though Leia didn't know how much. Enough, she supposed, that Tarkin must have discovered her lie about Dantooine. She should have felt a rush of satisfaction at the thought, but everything in her was numbed and cold.

 _Leia_ , she heard Ekkreth's mental voice, inserting itself between her slow-whirling thoughts.

She sent him a feeling of attentiveness, though she thought she could already guess what his message would be. If Tarkin had discovered her lie, he would see no reason to keep her alive anymore. She was a liability, and what little protection her information had afforded her would no longer be enough. Ekkreth could not save her this time.

It didn't matter. She'd been ready to die for the Rebellion, and that was before – before –

 _You are going to be rescued_ , Ekkreth said.

For a long moment Leia simply blinked. _What?_

 _A freighter from Mos Eisley has been captured, but the crew has escaped. Their ship's log shows that they abandoned the craft after takeoff, a transparent lie._ There was the very faintest hint of amusement in his voice now as he added, _My troops remain impressively consistent in their incompetence. Your Rebel friends are now roaming freely aboard this station._

Leia tried for a laugh. She almost succeeded. But he had to know this couldn't work.

 _You can't, Ekkreth_ , she said. _It would be completely unbelievable for me to be rescued by a handful of operatives and successfully smuggled off the Death Star. And we need you. You can't blow your cover for me. You have to –_

 _Artoo is with them_ , Ekkreth said, and Leia froze.

 _No._

 _You will escape_ , Ekkreth told her, as if there was no doubt, as if the future was already determined. _And you will take Artoo with you._

 _But how will you explain this to Tarkin?_

She felt a momentary but almost overpowering flash of vicious pleasure. _I will tell him that I am letting you go._

 _What? That doesn't –_

And then quite suddenly Leia understood.

 _You're going to track us_ , she thought. _You're going to bring the Death Star right to us._

She could feel Ekkreth's fierce approval, and she imagined that somewhere behind that obscuring death-mask, he must be smiling. She didn't think it would be a very nice smile.

 _You will have less than a day to analyze the plans and prepare your assault_ ,Ekkreth said. _Will you be ready?_

 _We'll be ready_ , Leia thought without hesitation. _And you'll be off this station when we are._

 _That is not –_

 _No_ , Leia snapped at him. _This is not optional. You'll get yourself off the station, Ekkreth, I don't care how you have to do it. I won't lose you too. Promise me._

 _Leia –_

 _Promise me!_

She felt a brief flash of annoyance, followed by an even briefer spark of admiration, and then Ekkreth said, _I will do what I must, Leia. The destruction of this station is paramount. But I can promise that I will do my utmost to survive._

It was the best she would get, Leia knew. She'd never known him to make any promise that didn't come with a caveat, not before today.

 _And Leia…_ This time Ekkreth sounded strangely hesitant.

 _Yes?_

 _When you get the chance, take it_ , he said. _And don't look back, Leia. Don't look back._

And then he was gone.

* * *

Leia lay back on the hard metal bench in her cell and waited. She did not have long to wait.

Only moments later, the door slid aside, and the shortest stormtrooper she'd ever seen stood there, wavering in the doorway.

Leia had never been especially good at holding back her snide tongue, and she didn't see a reason to start now. "Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?" she drawled.

"Huh?" said the trooper, his voice muffled and distorted by the mask. "Oh, the helmet." Without a second thought he removed it, and Leia's gaze met earnest blue eyes and an expression of absolute determination.

"I'm Luke Skywalker," he said. "I'm here to rescue you."

He was here with General Kenobi, and that meant he was with Artoo. Leia leapt to her feet. "Let's go," she said, already pushing past him into the cell block.

She knew it wouldn't be easy. Ekkreth wanted them to escape, but he wanted it to look like an escape that they might reasonably believe they'd achieved on their own. And that meant stormtroopers.

But the end couldn't be in doubt. He must already have planted the tracking device on Luke's ship. They would escape, and then –

And then, vengeance.

Luke came to stand beside her, his blaster held at a nervous angle that almost made her want to snatch it from his hands. He gave her a tight smile, and in spite of everything, Leia found herself smiling in turn. They set off at a near run down the cell block.

Leia never looked back.

* * *

.

.

 _Endnotes:_

 _You can tell Anakin's gotten hopelessly attached to someone when he slips up and speaks Amatakka to them._

 _Also, just in case anyone is wondering, yes, Kadee escapes the Death Star too. Anakin had her hide in his TIE fighter before the assault began, so she's with him when he goes out ostensibly to pick off the Rebel fighters (but really to blow up the Death Star himself if it becomes necessary)._


	9. Trophies

**Notes:** Anakin may not have intended to kill Obi-Wan in this 'verse, but he's become pretty experienced over the years with the ways in which everything can be weaponized. And he's not about to let this opportunity go to waste.

And okay, I admit I may have had too much fun with this one. Palpatine's POV is just so deliciously ironic.

Also, I want to thank everyone for the lovely reviews and comments on the last chapter! I've been really busy and hectic irl and on tumblr, but I definitely appreciate them, and will hopefully answer soon! Thanks for your patience!

* * *

 **Trophies**

Emperor Palpatine had always considered himself a patient man. He had planned and worked for many years to bring about his empire, to ensure the unassailable consolidation of his power, and for nearly as long to corrupt the Jedi's Chosen One. His patience would see him through this setback, as well.

But it rankled.

His apprentice was still kneeling, head bowed, at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne. Faint wisps of steam still curled up from lightly melted patches of black armor. Vader's ragged breathing provided the staccato background to Palpatine's thoughts, but he was otherwise silent.

At least, outwardly.

Almost casually, Palpatine examined his apprentice's mind. Vader had never learned the skill of disguising or sublimating his emotions. He was better at mental shielding, but he'd too obviously learned his technique from the Jedi. There was no subtlety to it. His mind was protected by a massive wall, and for someone like Palpatine, who was intimately familiar with stealth and shadows, that presented no obstacle at all.

Now Vader's mind was a wild riot of pain and anger and no little amount of disgust. The disgust, Palpatine was amused to see, was directed primarily at Vader himself.

And well it should have been. The destruction of the Death Star was without question the greatest disaster the Empire had ever faced. And Vader was singularly responsible.

"Rise, Lord Vader," Palpatine snapped, his considerable patience at an end. Vader's wheezing was becoming unbearable. "It is very unlikely that you can correct your mistake, but I do wonder how you plan to try."

Vader lumbered to his feet, the dreadful sound of his breathing becoming even more audible. For several long moments, he said nothing. Palpatine reminded himself that he was a very patient man.

"My Master," Vader said at last, "although the destruction of the Death Star and Governor Tarkin was…regrettable, the day was not entirely a loss."

And he held forth a lightsaber.

Palpatine's anger was hardly lessened by the sight, but this _was_ an unexpected development. He could afford to humor Vader for now.

"That is Kenobi's lightsaber, is it not, Lord Vader?"

"Yes, my Master," Vader said. "I was correct: the Rebel informant Ekkreth was indeed a Jedi. It was he to whom Princess Leia sought to deliver the stolen plans." Vader's voice gave only a hint of the vicious satisfaction Palpatine sensed in him as he added, "And now, Kenobi is dead."

This was news Palpatine had to admit he had not expected. Kenobi had been gone for years, and he'd believed the man too broken to be a serious threat.

And now Kenobi was dead. And more importantly, Vader was showing some spirit about it. It was just a hint of that spark that had made Anakin Skywalker so attractive as a potential apprentice, but seeing that anger directed once more at Kenobi was satisfying, in its own way.

But hardly enough to make up for the loss of the Death Star.

Still…

It would not do to punish Vader too severely. He was certainly aware of his failure, and would no doubt throw himself into a desperate attempt to appease his Master. He was utterly pathetic, but for now, at least, he remained too useful to dispose of.

There were others, of course. Inquisitors, agents, even a few children with untapped potential. But none who were outstanding, who showed anything like the promise Vader had shown in the beginning.

Vader himself showed that promise only rarely now, but he had other value. He was a living symbol, a trophy of Palpatine's greatest victory over the Jedi.

And so the Emperor allowed himself to smile. "Congratulations, my friend. At last you have achieved your revenge."

And severed his last tie to the Jedi. The failure of Yoda and his Order was now complete.

"Yes, my Master," said Vader. "The Jedi can offer no more threat to us."

Palpatine felt his mouth twist in a frown, but he contained his annoyance. For now.

"In this at least you have done well, Lord Vader," the Emperor said. Kenobi's lightsaber still rested in Vader's open palm, extended for Palpatine's inspection. The weapon of Anakin Skywalker's Jedi Master.

For just a moment, a twinge of foreboding filled him. But it was formless and baseless, and Palpatine had not achieved all he had by chasing after nebulous feelings. He pushed it from his mind.

There was, after all, another way he could make use of this.

"Keep it, Lord Vader," he said lightly. "You will no doubt appreciate a trophy to your victory."

Vader's emotions twisted and gnawed themselves like a pit full of writhing snakes. Palpatine held back a cackle, but only just.

"Thank you, my Master," Vader said tightly.

"But do not think it excuses your failure," Palpatine snapped, all trace of kindness banished. "The loss of the Death Star has set my ultimate plans back by several years."

He half raised a hand, and was gratified to see Vader try and fail to hide a flinch.

"I am deeply sorry, my Master," Vader said. His voice was entirely contrite, but his emotions churned with resentment and a deep-seated rage. Palpatine allowed himself a brief moment to luxuriate in the feeling.

"I am not without mercy, Lord Vader," he said, turning from his apprentice to gaze out the window over the world that belonged entirely to him. "I will give you a chance to make up for your fault."

Vader stood silently behind him, attentive and pathetically eager, awaiting his orders.

"The Rebels will believe that they have the advantage now," Palpatine said. "But they will soon learn the error of their ways. Hunt them down, Lord Vader, and destroy them. We cannot afford to show them any lenience. The Rebellion will be crushed, and all its sympathizers. Do not return here until it is done."

"Yes, my Master," Vader said, and Palpatine both heard and sensed him bowing. He didn't bother turning to look.

A moment later, the swish of a cloak and the faint snap of a door sliding closed marked Vader's departure. Emperor Palpatine still did not turn.

The destruction of the Death Star was a significant blow, but it was one he would recover from. And now the Jedi were well and truly dead, and there was no one left who might be a true threat to him. It was only a matter of time. His power was absolute, and soon it would be assured forever.

He had only to be patient.


	10. Children of the Force

This one begins the day after _Aftermath_. _Trophies_ technically takes place during this one, on the opposite side of the galaxy.

Also, if you thought this 'verse was going to somehow become less painfully ironic after we got past ANH, well, I've got some bad news for you friend…

* * *

 **Children of the Force**

She found him sitting alone in a clearing just south of the base, turning his lightsaber over and over in his hands.

Maybe it was a strange place to find the celebrated hero of the Rebellion, but Leia wasn't surprised. In his own way, Luke too had lost everything, and that was something she could understand.

"Hey," she said softly, but he startled anyway and then gave her a sheepish grin when he saw who she was.

"Hey," said Luke. "Sorry, I didn't – "

"It's all right," Leia said. "May I?"

Luke shrugged easily and patted the ground beside him. "Sure. I wouldn't mind some company."

Leia gave him a quick grin and plopped down in the moss next to him. It was thick and soft and it sent up a faint but musky wet smell, the kind of smell that, as a child, she'd always thought of as simply _green_. For one sharp and horrible moment, she was reminded of her mother, laughing as she danced barefoot with Leia through the mountain pastures of her grandparents' home.

Luke let out a startled laugh, and Leia turned to look at him in surprise. "What?"

"Sorry," he said, raising one hand in a poor attempt to hide his ongoing laughter. "You're just…not much like what I expected a Princess to be."

Leia raised one imperious brow at him. "Well," she said severely. "You're not much like any Jedi I ever heard of."

She'd meant it to tease, but she recognized her mistake even before the words had fully left her mouth. Luke's face fell, and without thought Leia reached out a hand to him, squeezing his arm in comfort and apology. "I'm so– "

"It's all right," Luke said with a weak smile. "Besides, I'm not much of a Jedi. I didn't even know about the Force until Ben told me and now he's – "

Leia hid a wince. She still didn't know what to make of that, if she was honest. Why had Ekkreth killed General Kenobi? She'd known him far too long to suspect Ekkreth of treachery, but it didn't make sense. And she was quite certain she couldn't ask Ekkreth about it.

"Well," she said, shaking the thoughts away, "you have that." And she gestured at the lightsaber Luke still held, resting loosely in his right hand.

"This was my father's," Luke said softly, a wistfulness to his voice that seemed too old for his young face. "He was a Jedi Knight, Ben said. And the best pilot in the galaxy."

"You seem to be taking after him, then," Leia said warmly, but Luke hardly seemed to hear her.

"Darth Vader killed him," he whispered. "And now he's killed Ben too. I _hate_ him."

Leia froze. Her emotions were a riotous whirl, but she knew better than to let any of them show. That had been one of Ekkreth's first lessons. Emotion was energy, and it could be either used or released, but first it had to be understood.

She was surprised to realize that the first and most prominent emotion she felt was a surge of protective anger. She wanted to defend Ekkreth. But that was ridiculous. He didn't need her defense, and she certainly wasn't about to blow his cover to assuage her own feelings.

But – there was more than that. Under the anger there was a kind of sinking dread, a lurking feeling that she wanted to shy away from. But she knew she couldn't.

It was entirely possible, even likely, that Vader really _had_ murdered Luke's father. Leia knew that. Ekkreth was a double agent in a key position, his loyalty to the Emperor unquestioned, and Leia knew intimately that his cover was only possible because once it had not been a cover at all.

She could live with that, could reconcile it to her own beliefs and understanding of the world. She'd been training to do so long before she met Ekkreth, and he was not the only double agent she'd ever worked with in the Rebellion. It was a moral balancing act, and one she'd always known could not be forced.

Even if it were possible for her to tell Luke the truth, she couldn't expect him to accept the man who'd killed his father, or to forgive him. This was something she'd have to deal with on her own.

Still, Ekkreth hadn't made it easy for her, she thought wryly. _You will need to teach the pilot_ , he'd said, as if it would be easy for her to even broach the subject, let alone pass on Darth Vader's teachings to the son of a man he'd murdered.

"I'm sorry, Luke," she murmured, squeezing his arm again. It wasn't nearly enough, but she didn't know what else to say.

But it was apparently sufficient to pull him back into this moment with her. Luke took her hand in his and squeezed back, looking surprisingly rueful. "No, no, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't be – I mean, after everything you've been through – well, I shouldn't be putting this on you too."

After everything she'd been through. Leia gritted her teeth and kept the smile frozen on her face. He meant it in the kindest way, and he was perfectly genuine and even a bit awkward about his expression of sympathy. For just an instant, Leia almost hated him.

But no. Of course it wasn't Luke that she hated. Luke had destroyed the Death Star and saved them all. The man she hated had died with the Death Star.

And it hadn't been enough.

Nothing would ever be enough. Alderaan was gone. But she didn't know how to tell Luke that. Though she suspected, all his fumbling attempts at comfort aside, that he already knew. Ben wasn't the first person he'd lost. She could read that in his eyes.

So instead she said, "What was it like, up there?"

For a moment she thought Luke would press, but then his shoulders eased and he settled back in the moss beside her, his lightsaber resting now across his knees. "I don't know," he said slowly. "It was – you're going to think I'm crazy."

 _You turned off your targeting computer and used the Force to make the shot_ , Leia thought. _There's nothing strange about that_. But all she said was, "Try me."

"Well." Luke shifted, once again turning his lightsaber over and over in his hands, staring down at it to avoid meeting her eyes. "I thought I heard Ben's voice. He told me to – to trust the Force, to let it guide me. And Leia – " He looked up at her suddenly, his eyes piercingly bright. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just…I knew somehow. Without using my computer. I knew when to take the shot, and I did."

Leia thought of Ekkreth sending a crate flying at her head and smiled softly. "It doesn't sound ridiculous," she said. "It sounds like you used the Force."

Luke let out a laughing breath of air. "Yeah," he said, grinning at her in relief. "I just – I guess I didn't think anyone would believe me, if I just said it like that."

"Well, I believe you," Leia said. She shifted herself, suddenly uncomfortable on the damp ground. How should she –

"Ever since Ben told me, I've wanted to be like him," Luke said abruptly, breaking into her thoughts. "My father, I mean." He hefted the lightsaber in his hand. "To be a Jedi like him. But now Ben's dead, and I don't know – he never had time to teach me much. I don't know where to go from here."

He sounded so forlorn, but Leia was struggling to keep the laughter off of her face. It would have been horribly inappropriate. But he couldn't have given her a better opening if he'd tried.

"Luke," she said, catching and holding his gaze. "You're not the only one. You're not alone."

He blinked at her in confusion, and then in slow-dawning surprise. "What?"

Even though they were entirely alone, Leia's voice lowered to a near-whisper. "I'm Force sensitive, too. It's not something I'm open about, but…I wanted to tell you. Because we're the same."

She wasn't lying, not really, but something like guilt still twisted in her gut. Leia quashed it. She couldn't tell him about Ekkreth.

So instead she gave him a tentative smile and said, "Maybe we can learn together?"

Luke's answering grin was almost blinding. "I'd like that," he said.

* * *

Leia had hoped that they could begin their training on Yavin IV, where she still had access to Ekkreth, at least for a few more days. But the base was a tumult of activity and she and Luke were both caught up in the moving preparations. Rebel bases were designed to be mobile and temporary, but even so, they couldn't move in a day. Not without leaving vital equipment behind.

And this time General Dodonna was keen to leave no trace of their presence in the system at all. With other bases the Rebellion had abandoned, Leia knew, it hadn't mattered so much if things like environmental equipment or miscellaneous spare parts were left behind. There were countless smuggling and mining bases across the galaxy, uncharted settlements that sprang up and disappeared just as quickly, and there would be no way to tell a former Rebel base from any of those.

But Yavin IV was different. The Empire knew, or soon would anyway, that the Rebellion had been there. They would tear the place apart. Dodonna intended to make sure there was nothing for them to find.

So as it turned out, Leia saw very little of Luke over the next several days. He was stationed with the pilots, of course, either prepping the transports for evacuation or else out on one of the continual security patrols Dodonna kept running night and day now.

Leia had experienced a brief moment of panic when she realized how closely Dodonna was sweeping the moon's surface. Ekkreth's crash had been small but noticeable – she'd followed the smoke trail herself to find him. But it seemed that Leia should count herself lucky they'd all been more focused on celebrating than on security in the wake of the Death Star's destruction. A downed TIE fighter had been reported, mangled beyond all recognition, and its pilot was presumed dead. That was the end of it.

(She allowed herself the brief but amusing mental image of Ekkreth further destroying his TIE, creating the perfect site of a deadly crash. She hoped he'd had a bit of fun with it, at least.)

Leia may not have seen much of Luke, but she did spend an unexpected amount of time with Captain Solo.

The smuggler and his Wookiee copilot had returned at the last moment to rescue Luke (as he thought) from Vader and allow him to make the triumphant shot. Leia had been glad to see Solo return, mostly because she was so surprised. It had been a long time, she thought, since someone had proved better than she thought them. It was nice to know that could still happen.

And he was continuing to surprise her. Having decided to come back, it now appeared that Solo had no intention of leaving again. Though she noted he also didn't appear to have any plans to return the reward money.

"Report from the hangar deck, Your Worshipfulness," Solo said, appearing smirk-first in front of her.

Leia scowled. Surprising or not, she wished he'd stop calling her that. In its own way, it was even worse than Ekkreth calling her "Your Highness."

"Thank you, Captain Solo," she said icily, snatching the datapad out of his hand and turning to address the aide who'd appeared at her other side. She heard Solo laugh wryly, but at least he took the hint. When the aide scurried away a moment later, Leia found herself alone.

In the sudden stillness, she felt something buzz in her pocket.

With a quick, furtive glance to be sure she wouldn't be missed, Leia slipped out of the stateroom and took the rough, crumbling rock stairs to the top of the old temple two at a time.

The hours had flown faster than she'd realized, and the world outside had turned to night. The bustling sounds of the base were strangely muted up here, less real than the gusting of the wind and the piercing cries of night creatures hunting insects.

Above the tree line, Leia had an uninhibited view of the stars. They shone down on her cold and clear, as bright and close as the shimmering lanterns she'd once set afloat on the palace lake every year for the Festival of Lights. She remembered her mother saying that the lanterns were homes for the star-spirits, who came down each year from the heavens to bless Alderaan and its people with their beauty and light.

"Every spirit chooses a person," Breha had murmured, her voice soft and her hand warm on Leia's shoulder as they watched the lights dance over the water. "And they journey beside that person and watch over them throughout the year, until the lights return and the cycle begins again."

Leia had been a young child still when she'd asked, "How do you know which star chooses you, Mama?"

And Breha had laughed and told Leia to look up at the sky. "It's the one that sings to you," she'd said. "The star that knows your name."

Now, as Leia looked up into the clear and radiant darkness, Alderaan's sun seemed to shine brightest of all.

Did the spirits still watch over her people? Or had they all died with her parents and Alderaan? Was there any star left to guide her?

The tiny com buzzed again in her pocket, and Leia smiled grimly. One spirit at least remained. Torhu the Destroyer.

It was an old thought, one she'd held secret and unvoiced for years now. Ekkreth's mask took the shape of a weirdly distorted skull, and she had no doubt that Palpatine had intended only that. It was pure coincidence that the mask also so nearly resembled the traditional depiction of Torhu in Alderaanian drama.

As a child she'd been frightened of Torhu. She remembered going to the theater with her parents once during the Festival of Remembrance, watching the dancers move silently across the stage, their painted masks frozen in unchanging expressions. Torhu had appeared at the climax of the story, and Leia had hidden her face in her father's chest and refused to look again until he said it was safe.

Breha had tried to explain to her daughter that no spirit was evil, that the destruction Torhu brought was sometimes necessary change, the upheaval of growth. The execution of justice. Leia didn't think she'd really understood then, although she'd told her mother she did.

But now…

Now Alderaan was dead. There could be no more festivals, no more spirits of bright joy, no more stars descending to earth. There was only memory and dust.

And Torhu the Destroyer. Her guardian angel. The last star to guide her.

Leia drew the com from her pocket and thumbed it on. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars.

"Ripple," said Ekkreth's voice, only it wasn't Ekkreth's voice. It was the droid who spoke for him. KD-7, she remembered, but Ekkreth called her Kadee.

She'd never met the droid, at least not in person, but Ekkreth spoke of her with surprising fondness. Leia found herself blinking back sudden and unexpected tears. She was glad, so glad, that Kadee had survived.

"Hello, Ekkreth," she whispered. Her voice disappeared into the stillness of the night like a prayer.

"When?" asked Kadee, but Leia knew what Ekkreth meant. It had been nearly a week since the Death Star's destruction. They were running out of time.

"Tomorrow," she breathed.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow their last preparations would be complete, and the base would be ready to move, to disappear and leave no trace of their presence behind. Tomorrow, she would go with them, would travel to the next base, and the next, and the next after that. She would be Leia Organa, symbol of resistance, leader of the Rebellion, Princess of a destroyed world.

She would never again be Senator Organa. Coruscant was closed to her now; she could never go back, not unless Palpatine died and the galaxy was changed.

And tomorrow, Ekkreth would be Darth Vader, loyal servant of the Emperor, sole survivor of the disaster that was the Death Star. He would go back to the Emperor. If he survived (and he _would_ , she told herself fiercely, he would because she would not allow for any other option), then he would hunt them.

She might never see him again. And if she did it might be worse. They would be on opposite sides of a war.

"Tomorrow, then," Ekkreth said. Kadee's voice held no inflection. Leia couldn't guess what he was feeling.

"Ekkreth – " she blurted, and then stopped. There was nothing else to say.

 _You're like a second father to me_ , she'd said, her relief dragging the words from her before she'd even decided to speak them, and he'd stood still and rooted and replied with only her name.

The last time she'd spoken to her parents, she'd still been on Coruscant. It was the evening before she was due to leave on her "mercy mission," to receive Ekkreth's transmission and the plans that could save them all. She remembered her father smiling tightly in the holo, and her mother's warm eyes. "We'll see you soon, love," Mama had said, and Leia had grinned and replied, "Soon, Mama," and cut the connection.

It was the last thing she'd said to them. The last words she would ever hear from them. _We'll see you soon_.

She should tell Ekkreth – she should tell him –

Words welled up in her throat, choking her. The stars above her blurred and faded to haze. She blinked, and realized that she was crying.

"Ripple," said Ekkreth, and Leia straightened in surprise, because this time it really was Ekkreth. His voice, not Kadee's. He was taking a shocking risk.

"You are strong and wise and free," he said. There was something there in his voice, a sharp, almost desperate insistence that left her stunned. She heard him draw a slow breath. And then he said, "Be brave. And don't look back."

A thousand words rose clamoring in her, and still she couldn't speak any of them. "I won't," Leia choked out, and cut the connection.

* * *

They began the evacuation in the early morning, and in a matter of hours all ships were away and prepared to leave Yavin far behind. Ekkreth would make contact with Coruscant today, had perhaps already done so, but there would be nothing for the Empire to find when they arrived on Yavin IV.

Leia had never been a particularly religious person, not… _before_. And now the spirits were all dead with Alderaan. All but one.

She stood silently on the observation deck, her hands linked behind her back, and stared out at the depthless void between the stars. Maybe there was no justice in the universe. Maybe there was just them.

 _Torhu_ , she prayed. _Watch over Ekkreth. And watch over us. Let there be a reckoning._

* * *

This time she found Luke in the mess hall. There was a plate heaped with some fragrant, spicy dish cooling in front of him, and a glass of blue milk. Every now and then he seemed to remember to eat, but mostly he was distracted by the swirling clouds of hyperspace visible through the viewports.

"Hey," said Leia, sliding into a seat across from him and starting in on her own meal, focusing on her food to avoid noticing how he startled. "You okay?"

Luke gave her a rueful grin. "Sorry," he said. "It's just – it's amazing, isn't it? Out there. Just last week I'd never even been off planet. I guess I'm still a little amazed by it."

Something warm opened up in Leia, and she realized it had been a long time since she'd experienced such simple wonder herself. "Thank you," she said, before she could think better of it.

Luke looked at her with a puzzled smile, and Leia simply shrugged. She didn't think she could explain.

"Are you off duty?" she asked him instead. "If you're free I was hoping we could – "

"Hey kid, you gonna eat that?" someone drawled over her shoulder, and Leia fought to hide a grimace. The man wasn't so bad, really, though she'd never tell him that. But he had terrible timing.

"Captain Solo," she said dryly as he pulled out a chair and set his own tray on the table just beside hers. Chewie claimed the spot beside Luke. "How nice of you to join us."

"No trouble at all, Your Worship," he said brightly. Leia ground her teeth.

"So," Solo said, digging into his meatloaf with undue enthusiasm. "Planning a hot date tonight?"

Leia blinked. She replayed the last few moments of her conversation with Luke, and nearly groaned aloud. It _had_ sounded like that, hadn't it?

Well, so what if it did. She didn't particularly care what Solo thought, and this made as good a cover story as any.

Luke was opening his mouth, no doubt to deny Solo's theory, and Leia hurried to cut him off. "That's right," she said. "What about it?"

For just a moment, Solo seemed to falter. And that was a surprise. She'd thought he was only teasing them, but he seemed startled by her answer, as though he hadn't expected it. And then his face closed off entirely.

Luke was looking back and forth between them and doing a poor job of hiding his amusement behind one raised hand. Leia narrowed her eyes at him. She was evidently missing something here, and she hated to be left out of the loop.

"Well," said Solo, standing abruptly and taking his half-finished tray with him, "you two have fun. Chewie and me have to get back to work. Grav sensor on the _Falcon_ 's been a bit off, ever since we broke out of that tractor beam."

He set off, but stopped and turned back a moment later when Chewbacca showed no signs of following. The Wookiee let out a growl of displeasure.

"Oh, just bring it with you, you great oaf," Solo muttered.

Chewie howled mournfully but obeyed, and a moment later, Leia was once more left alone with Luke.

"What was that about?" she grumbled.

Luke only shrugged, but his eyes were still twinkling with amusement. Leia suddenly realized that, while she didn't particularly care if Solo had the wrong impression about them, she should probably clarify matters for Luke.

"Er," she began awkwardly. "I wasn't actually – "

"I know," Luke said, waving an easy hand and shooting her a grin. "You were going to ask about, uh, _practice_ , right?"

"Yes," Leia said, relieved, although that didn't prevent her from rolling her eyes at his rather obvious coded language. "Are you free?"

"After 1800," he said, glancing up at the chrono on the wall of the mess. "But right now I have to go."

"All right," said Leia. She made a quick decision. "Meet me in my quarters when you come off shift."

Luke's grin disappeared, and he gave her a serious nod. Then he picked up his tray and left in the same direction Solo had.

Leia had thought she might stay and enjoy a leisurely lunch in the mess, but the furtive, pitying glances were too much. She hadn't been assigned a duty rotation yet – Dodonna had promised to put her on the roster, but she knew he wasn't fond of the idea of the last Princess of Alderaan serving with the common soldiers. He'd been something of an Alderaanian traditionalist even before, and now…

So instead she went back to her empty quarters. She had nearly six hours to wait, and the last thing she wanted to do was think. Not about Alderaan.

Ekkreth told her to practice her shielding. That at least was something she could do.

* * *

Luke arrived exactly on time, his father's lightsaber clipped to his belt and carrying a case of training remotes in one hand and a flight helmet complete with blast shield in the other.

"It's almost the only thing Ben had time to teach me," he admitted, looking at her shyly. "I'm not very good."

"Better than me, I'm sure," Leia said with a smile. "I've never used a lightsaber at all."

Luke looked up at her in surprise, and then before she could so much as blink he'd taken her hand and curled it around the lightsaber.

It was heavier than she'd expected, as though the weight it carried was more than the sum of its parts. The metal was still warm from Luke's hand, and up close she could see that the casing was pitted and scratched in places with age and use.

It looked remarkably like Ekkreth's lightsaber. The thought was startling and unexpected, and it left a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. But after all this was only the second lightsaber Leia had ever seen. Perhaps they all followed a similar design.

"My mother was a Jedi," she whispered, the confession drawn from her by the weight of the lightsaber in her hands. "I don't know anything else about her, though. Not even her name."

She glanced up just in time to see the flash of confusion in Luke's eyes, and then his moment of realization. He hadn't known she was adopted.

The thought was strange. Leia had lived all her life with the knowledge that she had four parents, two who raised her and taught her and loved her, and two who were shadows. Her birth mother the Jedi, a hazy figure with a face she knew only from her dreams, but no name. And her birth father, who was nothing at all.

She held the lightsaber out for Luke, and he took it back with a hesitant smile. "I don't really know anything about my mother, either," he admitted. "And I didn't know my father was a Jedi until – " he laughed suddenly " – until just last week. He was – "

"Anakin Skywalker," Leia said. "I know."

Luke's start of surprise was so comical that she laughed out loud. But when his confusion only deepened, she took pity on him.

"He served with General Kenobi and my father in the Clone Wars." She smirked. "Your last name's pretty recognizable."

"Oh," said Luke. He grimaced, and then shrugged awkwardly. "It's pretty recognizable on Tatooine, too, but…not because of that. Nobody there knows he was a Jedi."

She looked at him in question, and Luke favored her with a shockingly bitter smile. It should have looked entirely wrong on his face, and was all the more disturbing because it didn't.

"I was freeborn," he said, his eyes slipping away from hers and staring down again at his lightsaber. "But people liked to forget that, sometimes."

Leia felt as though she'd been caught in a sudden gravity sheer. "What?" she asked, more a breath than a question. "What do you mean, freeborn?"

Now Luke did look up again, but there was something guarded in his eyes that she'd never seen there before. "Skywalker's a slave name," he said. "Everybody on Tatooine knows that. But my father was freed. I always knew that. And now I know he was a Jedi Knight."

He said the last fiercely, almost defiantly, but Leia could still see a hint of uncertainty in the set of his shoulders and the shuttered blue of his eyes.

"But…slavery was illegal under the Republic," she whispered. The words felt like ash in her throat.

 _You might be surprised, Your Highness_ , she heard Ekkreth say again, and her memory lent his words a hard, mocking edge.

Some expression flashed across Luke's face, just briefly, too fast for Leia to identify. It might have been disappointment.

"If it was," he said, "somebody forgot to tell the Hutts."

No, she thought. He couldn't be right. The Republic couldn't have failed its people so badly. General Skywalker couldn't have been a slave. She'd have known. Her parents would have told her. They would have fought for –

"I'm sorry," Luke said with a sudden sigh and a half-hearted smile. "I know it's not – it's not your fault. You didn't know."

"But I should have," Leia said. The truth of it settled over her like a crushing weight.

Luke reached out and squeezed her hand. There was apology in his eyes. "Now you do," he said.

Now she did.

* * *

It was very difficult to lie to Luke.

He was so genuine himself, so open and friendly, that Leia found herself wanting to respond in kind.

But she knew it was more than that. The Force bound them together; Luke knew a part of her that she'd never shared with anyone other than Ekkreth. It was an unexpected relief, to have someone she could be honest with. She hadn't realized just how much she feared losing that.

And she knew she would have to be honest with him in turn.

That first time they met, Leia let Luke show her the lightsaber exercises he'd learned from General Kenobi. He kept insisting that he wasn't very good, but Leia thought that his demonstration was quite impressive, for someone who'd never even heard of the Force before last week. He put the blast shield on his helmet down before activating the remote, and he only got hit twice.

Although she'd never handled a lightsaber before, Leia picked up the technique quickly herself. It wasn't so very different from the way Ekkreth had taught her to be aware of her surroundings, attentive to all possible threats. She stretched out with her senses, feeling every piece of furniture in her room, every obstacle, mapping the space in her mind, and then narrowing her focus to the remote.

She still got stung, but only a couple of times, and only glancing blows.

When she removed the helmet, Luke was staring at her. Leia felt suddenly self-conscious.

"That was amazing," he said.

"Well," she said, not quite meeting his gaze, "I've practiced sensing my surroundings, and this isn't that different."

Luke looked at her curiously for a moment longer, but he let it go.

* * *

The second time they met, Leia had decided to tell him the truth. Or as much of it as she could, anyway.

"I have a teacher," she confessed. They were still traveling through hyperspace – General Dodonna had decided to follow a complex pattern of jumps along a very indirect route, the better to lose any hypothetical pursuit – and Leia had once more volunteered her quarters for their practice. She'd swept the rooms five times for bugs. It was an old habit by now, even here in the heart of a Rebel transport.

Luke's eyes brightened with a new gleam of hope, but he kept his silence, encouraging her to continue.

Leia looked down and sighed. "I can't tell you anything about my teacher, Luke. I'm sorry. It's all classified. But I – well, there are things you're going to have to know, to learn, and I think it will be easier if you understand how I know them."

He was sitting across from her, perched on the edge of her small desk, his hands twisting around his lightsaber again. She wished he would say something.

Finally Luke gave her a tentative smile. "Thank you," he said. "For telling me. It's – it helps. I won't ask any questions, I promise. But I'm glad to know there's somebody else out there. That Ben wasn't the last."

Leia remembered how Ekkreth had reacted when she'd asked if he was a Jedi. She bit her tongue.

"So," said Luke. "You're supposed to teach me, aren't you?"

Leia looked up in surprise. But Luke didn't seem angry, or even troubled. "You're taking this a lot better than I expected," she said wryly.

But Luke was perfectly serious as he said, "It's classified. I understand that, Leia. Sometimes secrets are important."

There was some weight to that last statement that Leia didn't fully understand. But it wouldn't be right to ask. So instead she said, "All right. In that case, we should work on your shielding."

* * *

General Kenobi, it seemed, hadn't had time to teach Luke much beyond the very basics of the Force – what it was and how to sense it. He'd had one lesson with his lightsaber and the remote. And that was it.

Leia taught Luke the simple shield first, just as Ekkreth had taught her. She built up the wall in her own mind, and then brought Luke in, so he could see how it was constructed.

It was strange, hearing Luke's thoughts inside her own head. She'd expected it to be the same as it was with Ekkreth, but it wasn't. And yet she couldn't pinpoint what the difference was. Perhaps it was simply the newness of being on the other side of the teacher-student relationship.

Luke's mind, like Ekkreth's, was a desert. Leia wondered about that. She knew Luke came from a desert planet, so it made sense that his mental landscape would match what he knew. Her own mind most often took the form of the high mountains where her grandparents had lived.

Did that mean that Ekkreth, too, came from a desert world? She realized she'd never wondered before. It was so strange to think of him as someone who had an origin: a history and a place and a time, maybe even a family. A person, she thought, and remembered him saying exactly that. _I'm a person and my name is – Ekkreth._

So when she showed Luke how to craft a shield from his emotions, she used Ekkreth's image of the sandstorm. "You aren't the storm," she told him, "but you aren't the bedrock, either. You are the desert."

Luke looked at her very strangely. Then he smiled. "Terak," he said. "That's what we call it, on Tatooine. The desert. But really it means the all. The everything."

It sounded almost like something Ekkreth might have said. Leia blinked in surprise. "Yes," she said. "Exactly."

They both practiced again with Luke's lightsaber and the remote. Leia briefly wished that they could have had two lightsabers, but with that thought came the image of Ekkreth and General Kenobi, and Luke's devastated scream, and she was glad, after all, that they only had the one.

* * *

The process of setting up a Rebel base, Leia found, was even more involved than disassembling it had been. And it was hardly made easier by the biting winds and spitting rain that seemed to be a permanent fixture of life on Panoor.

But she refused to sit back and let others do all the work. The more variations of "Don't trouble yourself, Princess," she heard, the more determined she became.

Luke found her buried deep in the bowels of one of the generators, cursing the inadequacies of mechanics everywhere. She didn't even know he was there until he announced, "I should tell Jorren you said that."

Leia dragged herself out of the generator to glare at him, but she couldn't manage to hold it. After all, she wasn't down on any of the duty rosters and he couldn't have known to look for her here. So he must have sensed her. She felt a half-ridiculous rush of pride.

Besides, he'd brought food. She could forgive him a lot under those circumstances.

He must have just come off duty himself, because his clothes were liberally stained with grease and there was a patch of dirt smeared across his brow. Leia decided not to tell him about it.

His hands were full with a thermos, two cups, and small bag full of something that smelled warm and sweet.

"What's all this?" Leia asked with a smile.

"It's tzai," Luke said, setting everything down on a nearby work bench. He looked up and gave her a shy smile. "My family recipe. I was just going to have some myself, and then I thought, well – " He shrugged and began setting out a handful of round, fragrant cakes. "I promised Milda I'd take a look at her fritzing power converters if she let me into the kitchens."

"You cook?" Leia blurted in surprise.

Luke laughed. "Yeah, sure. Have since I was little. I used to help Aunt Beru with – "

His voice cut off sharply, his smile slipping. He turned back to the bench and busied himself with pouring the tzai.

Leia let him have his silence and his space. When the tzai was ready he looked up again, wordlessly offering her a cup and one of the cakes.

Leia took both and breathed in deeply. The tzai was obviously some kind of tea, rich and spicy, filling her senses and conjuring up images of warmth and laughter and old stories told anew. She remembered, as a child, sneaking into the kitchens after hours with her mother, giggling and whispering as if they were on some secret, deadly mission, pilfering scones or fresh bread or once a whole fruit tart and dashing back to the royal suite with their loot. Her father had always looked at them both with fond exasperation, but he'd never been above sampling their ill-gotten gains himself.

Leia closed her eyes and let the memory linger, the sweet along with the bitter. She took a slow sip of the tzai. It tasted as good as it smelled.

"Thank you," she told Luke. When he favored her with a warm smile, she dared to ask, "You said it was a family recipe?"

"Tzai is _ours_ ," he said, halting and earnest, and she didn't have to ask who he meant. "My father made it this way, and his mother before him, and her mother and hers, and back and back. It's a secret. It – connects us."

"Oh," said Leia, feeling suddenly out of place, as if she'd unthinkingly taken something that wasn't hers. "You didn't have to – "

"I wanted to," Luke insisted. "Because you're like me. We're in this together."

"I guess we are," she said, and took another long sip of tzai.

* * *

When she returned to her new quarters that night, there was an intelligence report waiting for her.

She ran the decryptions, hardly daring to breathe.

Darth Vader had been given command of a fleet. He'd been ordered to hunt down and destroy the Rebels responsible for the loss of the Death Star.

Leia read the report and erased it. She stared down at the blank screen of her datapad. A wordless prayer formed in her mind, but there was no one to hear it. No star to guide her.

She would find her own way. She had to.

 _Be brave. And don't look back._


	11. Apology Accepted

_Jumping ahead a bit in the timeline: this one takes place at the beginning of ESB. But since it's entirely from Needa's POV, there's no spoilers for any Skywalker-related shenanigans._

 _In which we find out what really happened to Captain Needa._

* * *

 **Apology Accepted**

Lorth Needa told himself very firmly that he was not trembling. It didn't do much good.

A group of junior officers passed him on the other side of the hallway. Several of them gave him furtive, pitying looks. One of them even nodded, very much in the manner of a man who was sorry, but not so sorry that he would risk trying to help.

Needa turned away from them to face the door. He squared his shoulders. He took a deep breath. He told himself that it was not his last.

He stepped forward and the door opened.

Darth Vader was waiting there on the other side.

Needa swallowed. Vader wasn't looking at him; his back was to the door and he was gazing out the viewport into space, his hands clasped loosely behind him. The sound of his breathing filled the small conference room.

There were any number of rumors about that breathing. Needa was not a man who indulged in gossip, but in his position it sometimes payed to listen all the same. Most of it was spurious, but very occasionally he'd learned some shockingly useful information by listening in the mess.

There was very little consensus about Vader in the rumor mill, beyond the very obvious fact that he was completely terrifying. As far as Needa could make out, the troops were almost evenly divided on the question of whether he was a biological or a droid under all that armor. But Needa himself was relatively certain about that, at least.

Droids didn't get angry. That was a very human quality.

It was not a comforting thought.

Needa stepped forward, and the door closed behind him. No escape now. His mouth felt suddenly thick and parched. He should have announced himself, acknowledged Lord Vader's presence, something, but he couldn't seem to make himself speak.

"You know why he breathes like that, right?" he'd overheard Lieutenant Jeffers whispering in the mess just last week. "It's to get you thinking about it. Breathing. So it's all you can think about…until you can't."

Needa tried to swallow and found his throat too dry. He tried not to think about breathing. He wasn't successful.

"Captain Needa," Vader rumbled. He didn't turn from the viewport.

"Yes, Milord," Needa croaked.

"You have been careless, Captain," Vader said dispassionately. He still seemed more interested in the view than in Needa.

Oh gods, thought Needa. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, and Anwen's turning five in a week and I'll never see her again.

Vader turned only slightly away from the viewport. He raised his right hand. Needa could already feel his breath becoming short. He was going to die. Vader was –

He was –

He was placing something small and metallic on the surface of the conference table.

Needa blinked. He breathed. He was surprised to find it easy.

"Do you know what this is, Captain?" Vader asked.

Needa blinked again. He felt dizzy. The question made no sense. Shouldn't he be dead by now?

Desperately, he focused on the table.

The thing resting there seemed to be a simple circle of dark metal. Periodically, a small light in the top of the casing blinked red. He'd never seen such a thing before. But Vader appeared to be waiting with dreadful patience for his answer, so Needa blurted, "Is it…some kind of scrambler, Milord?"

"Very good," said Vader dryly. "Had you been so astute before, you might have saved us both some trouble."

Needa gulped. He tried to tell himself he had no idea what Vader was talking about. But he doubted it would do any good. All the whispers said that Vader could take things directly from your mind. That he would know your inmost thoughts and fears, and how to exploit them.

Needa's eyes darted around the room. There was the scrambler on the table. There were the usual security cams, but he could see they'd all been turned off. A moment's attention to the quality of noise (to the harsh rasp of Vader's breathing) told him the sound dampeners had been engaged.

His heart thudded against his ribs. It wasn't terribly unusual for Vader to kill his officers for failure, but Needa knew he hadn't made any notable oversights recently, and Vader was hardly known for allowing his victims a private death, in any case. No, this was not to be an execution. Not yet.

It had all the marks of an interrogation. Oh gods.

Vader let out a huff of air that sounded almost like a sigh. "At ease, Captain," he said.

There was something different about his voice. Something strange. Needa's body responded automatically to the command while his mind raced at lightspeed down half a dozen different routes at once. He couldn't think about codes, or channels, or plans. He couldn't think about anything important. Vader would drag it from his mind. He tried to remember the exercises they'd taught him, the ways of resisting, of holding information secure. He couldn't let anything through. He couldn't let Vader see.

He was going to die. Anwen's birthday was in a week. He'd forgotten to com Brenay last night. He would never find out if Anwen liked her birthday present. He was going to die. Vader was speaking to him almost gently. He was going to –

Wait. Gently?

"Several encoded transmissions were detected from your ship, Captain," Vader said. "Encoded in known Rebel frequencies. I received the report this morning."

Needa froze. He could think of nothing to say. Vader had accused him of nothing yet, and he still didn't know how much the man knew or guessed. Anything he said was as likely to incriminate him as to defuse the situation.

Vader released a breath that was definitely a sigh this time. He sounded resigned, maybe even amused, as he said, "You've put me in a very awkward position, Captain."

It was such a bizarre thing to say that Needa actually dared to ask, "Milord?"

"I could have used you in your current posting," Vader said. "I had even thought you might do well as an admiral. But now it seems I'll have to kill you instead."

He said it almost off-handedly, as if Needa's death was only a minor inconvenience. But that in itself made no sense. Vader didn't talk this way. It was entirely out of character. There was more inflection in his voice than Needa had ever heard before; if he'd been anyone else, and if Needa had been less terrified, he might have thought that Vader was making a joke.

But he was more than terrified, and there was far more at stake than Needa's one life.

"We are coming up on the Hoth system," Vader said abruptly, all trace of humor suddenly gone from his voice. Needa could feel Vader's gaze burning into him from behind the wall of his mask. "I have ensured that Admiral Ozzel will bring the fleet out of hyperspace too close to the system, so that the Rebels will be alerted to our presence. You will hold your ship in the vanguard. You will attempt to capture the Rebels as they flee, and you will fail. And then you will report to me, to apologize."

A faint twist of amusement lurked beneath that last statement, but Needa hardly noticed. He was gaping at Vader, far past the point of pretending ignorance or innocence. What was going on here?

Vader drew something else from one of the pouches on his belt: a small capsule, clear, filled with a white powder.

"Immediately before you report to me, you will take this," Vader said. "It will take effect within twenty minutes of consumption, and last for three hours. The effect will precisely mimic death. You will be dumped with the derelicts, and in three hours when you wake the fleet will be gone. You have the necessary transponder codes, I trust?"

"What?" Needa said stupidly. His mind was a whirl. None of this made sense.

"The transponder codes," Vader snapped with evident impatience. "To call a transport. Unless you wish to remain floating in space, of course."

"I don't – you – what?"

"Perhaps I've been unclear," Vader bit out. "You have been compromised, Captain. You cannot continue to serve in this position. I am offering you a way out."

Needa's thoughts spun wildly. Distantly, he recalled the rumors about Vader, but he could hardly stop himself from thinking now.

He'd been found out. Vader's response was…unexpected, but Needa could guess well enough what his plan was. Convince Needa that he was letting him go, and then follow him back to the Rebellion. What was less evident was why Vader would expect him to fall for such an obvious ploy.

It didn't matter though. His duty was clear.

Needa straightened his back and stood to attention. He swallowed hard and looked Vader directly in the red-tinted lenses of his mask. "I don't undersand, Milord," he said.

Vader stared him down. Needa could feel himself beginning to sweat. He wished, not for the first time, that he could see what lay behind that inscrutable mask.

Vader set the capsule on the table, just beside the scrambler. He rested his hands at his belt. A moment later, and he moved to link them loosely behind his back. In anyone else, the motions would have been fidgeting. Needa wasn't certain what to make of them in Darth Vader.

"The rain was long ago," Vader said slowly, his masked gaze fixed unwaveringly on Needa, "but the desert does not forget."

Needa felt all his breath leave him in a sudden whoosh, as surely as though Vader really had choked him. He struggled desperately to keep the surprise from his face, and knew that he failed.

There were other Rebel agents in the Imperial ranks. Needa knew this, though he didn't know their identities or their placements. He had contact information for only a handful of them, and most he'd never spoken to. It was safest that way.

He'd never used this code before, but he recognized it instantly. He'd memorized it like the words of a prayer. If you're ever in trouble, his first handlers had said, remember this code. We have someone on the inside. Someone who can help.

"The desert never forgets," Needa whispered, the response drawn almost involuntarily from his lips.

"The mighty one comes with the storm and with fire," Vader said. Even with the vocoder, his voice sounded hushed, almost reverent.

"We will walk free," Needa breathed.

He stared at Vader. The silence stretched between them, something fragile and devastating. Needa felt the galaxy shift around him, breaking apart and remaking itself around the shock of this truth.

"Ekkreth," he whispered.

Vader nodded once. "You have the transponder codes?" he asked again.

"Yes," said Needa, and he reached out with trembling fingers to take the capsule.

* * *

He woke to silence and darkness and the immense, lonely feeling of deep space.

Needa sat up slowly, taking stock of his body and his surroundings. His limbs felt stiff and sluggish, as though he'd slept wrong, and his mouth was thick with some bitter, musty taste that made him gag. He was in some kind of cargo hold, though it looked old and badly used. Debris littered the floor. The air smelled stale and thin.

He stood gingerly and patted his pockets until he found the transponder. He'd never had to use these codes before, but he knew them by heart. He punched them in now and watched as the indicator lit up. Then he sat back against a haphazard pile of old crates and settled in to wait. And to think.

Darth Vader was a Rebel.

Even now, his mind shied away from the thought. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. The Emperor's special agent, the ghost who moved in the shadows, who hunted the Rebellion relentlessly, who slaughtered his officers for the slightest failures. He was a Rebel.

But…it made a strange kind of sense, if he looked at it from an angle and forgot everything he knew about Darth Vader. Everything he thought he knew.

Vader was known as an unstoppable, terrifying force, yet the same group of Rebels had repeatedly escaped him. He'd been stationed on the Death Star when the plans were stolen, and his attempts to recover those plans must have been unsuccessful. The Rebels had destroyed the station. And Darth Vader had been the only survivor.

We have someone on the inside, his handlers had said. Someone on the inside…

Needa had never planned to join the Rebellion. He'd submitted his application to the Imperial Naval Academy in good faith, and served with distinction for nearly a decade. He hadn't been particularly patriotic, but he'd appreciated order, and he'd liked the routine of the work, the beauty of deep space, the sense of being a part of something more.

That was before Alderaan.

Brenay was Alderaanian. Her mother and father and three sisters had all lived there still. She'd had four nephews and two nieces, and to an only child like him, her extended family had seemed endless. He remembered going to a celebration with her once, in the second year of their marriage, and feeling utterly bewildered by the variety and number of her relations. He remembered Brenay laughing at him, telling him he'd get the hang of it eventually, that they were his family now, too.

And now they were all dead.

But Tarkin and his Death Star were dead too. And Darth Vader was a Rebel.

The transponder beeped in his hand. The code was one of the newer ones, but he recognized it. Pick up and debrief. Information premium. He wouldn't know where he was going until he arrived.

He sent back the answering code, and a moment later felt a tractor beam latch onto his drifting cargo pod.

* * *

The Togruta woman who greeted him when they landed was completely unfamiliar to him…until she introduced herself by her call sign.

He'd long suspected that the cowled head that appeared in Fulcrum's messages was unlikely to be Fulcrum's true image. But it was still strange to have a face, a concrete identity, to go with the name. For the sake of his own sanity, he tried not to think about masks.

Her name was Ahsoka Tano, and she wore two lightsabers at her belt. Needa glanced at them, and then quickly away.

So he was entirely unprepared to find himself with an armful of Togruta.

"Sorry," Ahsoka said, though she didn't look it. Her grin was decidedly cheeky as she pulled back. "We heard you were dead, you know. I'm glad you're not."

For the first time since he'd been ordered to appear before Lord Vader, Needa allowed himself to relax. "So am I," he said.

Ahsoka's smile slipped away, and she looked at him long and levelly. "If I ask how you got away, you won't be able to tell me, will you?" she asked at last.

Darth Vader was a Rebel. Needa felt almost dizzy just thinking it.

He gave her a weak smile. "Classified," he muttered, and was glad when she let it go at that.

"I figured," she said easily. "Well, Agent Classified, Mon Mothma wants to speak with you. I'd tell you why, but…" She shrugged and grinned.

Needa glanced around the bustling hangar bay. He still didn't know where they were, although the bay doors were open on one end and he could see rolling green hills and the distant sparkle of water beyond. The last time he'd seen so much green, he'd been visiting Brenay's family on Alderaan.

The thought left a bitter, stone-heavy weight in his stomach. He pushed it away.

"Lead on, then," he told Ahsoka, and they set off at a brisk pace through the base.

* * *

The head of Alliance Intelligence was an elegant woman in her middle age, memorable mainly for the poise with which she carried herself, but otherwise unremarkable. She might have looked equally at home on the old Senate floor or in a day spa. Or, as was the case now, sitting easily in an office that more nearly resembled an interrogation room.

In spite of himself, Needa tensed.

"This is your stop," Ahsoka said brightly beside him. She nodded once in Mothma's direction, then turned her smile on Needa. "Come find me when you're done here? I'm sure you're hungry, and I could do with a bite to eat myself."

She swept out the door before he'd had time to do more than nod.

"Captain," said Mothma as soon as they were alone. "It's good to see you alive."

He'd never met her in person before. He recognized her more from the Imperial wanted notices than from anything Alliance related. Truth be told, he'd never expected to meet her at all. Mon Mothma was head of Intelligence – she had countless spies and double agents to keep track of, and Needa had never really been that important.

He was now though, he thought, and swallowed.

Mothma rose from her chair and offered him a smile that transformed her severe face. "At ease, Captain," she said mildly. "I apologize for the room. But it's the most secure location we can offer here, and you're now in possession of some very sensitive information."

"I never expected to be," said Needa.

"No, of course not." Mothma smiled again. "Really, Captain, you can relax. This isn't an interrogation. Your credentials are well-known, and you come to us with quite the character reference."

There was an edge of laughter to her voice as she said that, and something teasing in her eyes. Needa made himself ask, "I do?"

"Ekkreth informs us that you are a sterling officer of unquestionable integrity, and that you were three times passed over for promotion by Admiral Motti, which I'm told is a recommendation in itself." Her eyes twinkled.

Needa gaped. "Oh," he said weakly.

"At _ease_ , Captain," Mothma said, a hint of almost fond scolding in her tone. "You're still breathing."

"Yes, and I still can't quite believe it," Needa muttered.

Mothma's face gentled. "Ah," she said. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

Needa only laughed. Darth Vader was a Rebel. Would he ever be able to think that without an edge of hysteria?

Mothma's smile was sympathetic, but her voice was steel-edged. "You understand, Captain Needa, that you cannot share this information with anyone. Every aspect of this incident is classified. If anyone asks, that's what you tell them, and that will be enough."

Needa took a deep breath. "I understand," he said.

"Do you?" Mothma's expression now was distinctly bemused. "I must confess, Captain, I'm surprised to see you standing here. Pleased, but surprised. Ekkreth must think you valuable indeed to risk saving you."

"He – he didn't say – " Needa stammered.

Mothma eyed him sharply. "Let me be clear, Captain," she said. "You are now only the third person still living who is aware of Ekkreth's identity. Now do you understand?"

For a long moment, Needa could only stare. He'd known this was big, but he hadn't thought –

Vader – Ekkreth – had revealed himself apparently solely to save Needa's life. His secret had been known only to the head of Alliance Intelligence and one other person. This information was so far above Needa's paygrade as to be laughable. And yet here he was.

"I – I understand, Ma'am," he stammered. "I will hold this in the strictest confidence."

Mon Mothma's severe posture eased, just slightly. "Good," she said. "That's all I can ask, Captain. I'm sorry you're burdened with this, but there's nothing else to be done now. Will you be staying with us?"

Needa blinked. He hadn't considered that. But after all he could hardly go back to the Empire, and trying to find a civilian job would likely prove nearly as dangerous. Besides, after everything that had happened, he hardly felt he could just walk away. So he said, "Yes, if you have need of me."

Mothma smiled. "We always have need of experienced officers," she said. "Report to Admiral Ackbar for a posting. But go have lunch with Agent Tano first."

"Thank you, Ma'am," said Needa. But he hesitated a moment at the door, and Mothma noticed.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's only – my family," Needa said haltingly. "I was killed for my failure and there might be repercussions and they – "

"Are already on their way here," Mothma said. She smiled at Needa's surprise. "Ekkreth sent word."

That was almost too much to think about. Needa hadn't realized Vader was even aware of whether or not his officers had families.

"They should arrive within two days," Mothma said.

"Oh," Needa said weakly. And then, because he felt ridiculous but he still didn't know, "Where are we?"

Mothma laughed, a surprisingly warm, bright sound. "I do apologize, Captain," she said. "I should have mentioned. Welcome to Naboo."

One of the key leaders of the Rebellion was living on a base on the Emperor's home planet. Just last week, Needa might have been surprised. But now, Darth Vader was a Rebel and he wasn't sure anything would ever be able to surprise him again.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said again, and gave her a crisp salute. Mothma looked slightly bemused, but she returned the salute with a smile.

* * *

Mess hall food, Needa discovered, was the same everywhere.

"We had this same meatloaf two weeks ago," he told Ahsoka with a rueful smile. But that didn't stop him from taking another bite.

"Well, that makes sense," she said, grinning across the table at him. She'd already finished her own meal, and seemed to be thinking about going back for seconds. "We intercepted an Imperial supply convoy not too long ago. Food enough for months."

Needa sighed. "And here I was hoping for a change of pace," he said.

For a moment Ahsoka only blinked at him. And then she laughed, louder and longer than he thought his joke really warranted.

"Sorry," she said at last. "I'm just not used to Imperials who have a sense of humor." The moment the words left her mouth, she winced. "Imperial defectors, that is."

In spite of himself, Needa thought of the strange tone of Vader's voice when he'd said, "But now it seems I'll have to kill you instead." He'd been too terrified to recognize it at the time, but now with the benefit of hindsight the wry amusement in that voice was obvious.

"We do have a tendency towards dark humor," he said now, with a rueful twist of his lip.

Ahsoka's eyes narrowed. She seemed to be trying to decide if that statement was a joke itself. Needa only looked back at her, giving her nothing.

Finally she sat back with a huff. "I can tell you're an old campaigner," she said. "You've got that thousand meter stare perfected."

"Necessity, I'm afraid," Needa said. "Especially when you're working under – " He froze.

Ahsoka was watching him with sharp pity in her eyes. And something else, too, some old pain he didn't fully understand. "Vader," she whispered. "Yes. I know."

She didn't know, Needa thought, again with that edge of near-hysteria. No one did. No one but himself, Mon Mothma, and one other person. He wondered vaguely who that other person could be, and then immediately told himself to stop. He knew far too much already. And he couldn't tell Ahsoka any of it.

So instead he offered her a weak smile, and they finished their meal in silence.

* * *

Brenay and Anwen arrived two days later. Needa was in conference with Admiral Ackbar when the call came, and Ackbar shooed him out, insisting that they could speak again later, but that right now, Needa should be with his family.

Needa took the chance, but he did wonder. Was military discipline always so lax in the Rebellion? He couldn't imagine something like this ever happening in the Imperial fleet.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he entered the hangar. Almost before he'd had a chance to glance around, Anwen had spotted him and was barreling toward him, yelling, "Papa, Papa!" To his surprise, Brenay wasn't far behind. She must have been worried.

Needa forgot his dignity and ran to meet them halfway.

He scooped Anwen up in his arms, even though she was getting far too big for it – she'd grown since he'd seen her last – and she squealed and whooped. Brenay was smiling softly, watching them, but her dark eyes were still shadowed with worry.

He shifted Anwen against his side and drew Brenay into his arms. For a long moment the three of them simply held each other.

But soon enough Anwen started squirming, and Needa laughed and stepped back to put her down.

"Papa, Papa," she said, tugging urgently at his leg. "Did you know it's my birthday?"

"I did," Needa told her very solemnly. "Why do you think I came home?"

Anwen beamed up at him. But then her nose scrunched up in confusion. "But this isn't home," she said.

Needa caught Brenay's eye and she nodded. There'd be no going back now, not for any of them. "This is our home now," he told Anwen gently.

"Oh," the little girl said. Then she smiled. "Did you bring me a birthday present, Papa?"

"Anwen!" Brenay tried to scold her, but she wasn't quite able to hide her laughter.

"It's all right," Needa said. "Come on then, you little nerf. I'll show you our quarters, and then we can have a proper birthday party."

Anwen grinned and dashed ahead, giggling.

"She's going in the wrong direction, isn't she?" Brenay asked drily.

Needa only shrugged. "She'll figure it out," he said, bending to take two of the four packing cases Brenay had brought. She held two more. This was all they owned in the world now.

"You're really all right?" she asked him softly as they walked. Anwen had joined them again, but she was continually darting off and then waiting impatiently for her parents to catch up.

"I really am," Needa said gently. "And you're – "

"Yes," Brenay said, her shoulder brushing his as they walked. "We had to leave a lot behind, but we brought everything that's important. And we have you again. You won't ever have to go back. I've been so worried, Lorth…"

"I know," he said, bumping his shoulder against hers in apology.

Brenay stopped suddenly, dropped her two travel cases, pulled him around to face her, and kissed him soundly. Needa rather forgot everything else, until he heard their daughter groaning loudly.

"Mama! Papa! Come _on_ ," Anwen called, nearly bouncing in her impatience, and Needa broke away from Brenay with a laugh.

"We'd better not keep her waiting," he said ruefully. "Come on."

* * *

Later that night, wrapped in Brenay's arms, Needa confessed, "I thought I was going to die."

Her embrace tightened around him, and she whispered fiercely, "But you didn't." She nuzzled his neck, and he could feel her smile against his skin. "You must have a guardian spirit. I've always said so."

Needa bit his lip hard to hold back the strangled laugh that wanted to escape. A guardian spirit, he thought, imagining Vader's terrible death-mask and shrouded dark cloak. A spirit of death, maybe.

But…he was alive. He was alive, and Brenay and Anwen were here, and he was a free man.

"Maybe you're right," he murmured, turning to kiss her.

Perhaps someday he could tell her the truth. Someday when all of this was over, and the terrifyingly sensitive information he held was declassified.

Darth Vader was a Rebel. And for the first time since he'd met the man, Needa found himself hoping he would see him again.


	12. Trickster Steals the Moon

**Notes:** I've been wanting to write something like this for a while, and finally did it: a fic that's half Ekkreth trickster-tale, and half Anakin's history as a double agent, where the stories interconnect and Anakin's actions exist within the sacred tradition of storytelling.

This one is set almost immediately after _Optimal Functioning_ , and just before ANH.

The myth in this is the origin story for the holy week of Marokkepu, of which Maru is the central hero. Her name means "water," and she's considered one of the great prophets. (For more info, search for "marokkepu" on my tumblr, since FFN won't do links.)

* * *

 **Trickster Steals the Moon**

There are as many Ekkreth stories as there are slaves on Tatooine, which is to say, there are stories without number, and more every day.

This is one of them.

* * *

One day, as Ekkreth was going along, they came upon Depur and his chief slavers gathered in the marketplace. All the people were gathered too, and their hearts were heavy and they trembled with fear.

So Ekkreth took an old woman's shape and came and stood at the edge of the crowd, far from Depur. And they asked the people standing near, "Why are you afraid, children of the Mother? Has Depur done something to hurt you?"

But they only trembled all the more.

Then Ekkreth pressed them, and at last a child answered. Her name was Maru, and she said, "Depur always hurts us, Grandmother. But now he has done something far worse. He has taken the moon from the sky, and now the water will never come again."

When Ekkreth heard this they grew very quiet. For the moon, as all Ar-Amu's children know, is the water-giver, and without water there is no life.

But Depur said that he was their life. That the water would come now not from the moon, but from him. And so his slaves would be always bound to him, and even the secret places of Ekkreth in the desert would be no refuge, but only places of dryness and death.

Then Ekkreth the old woman cried out, "Oh great Master, how have you done this thing? For surely only a very mighty power could pull the moon from the sky!"

And Depur laughed, pleased that at last his slaves acknowledged the fullness of his power. Then he said, "I will show you, so that you may know how great Depur is, and how unassailable my strength."

And he commanded his overseers to open the great soldered doors of his palace so that the people might see within. Then all the people cried out in anguish, for they saw the moon caught there in a net of many chains, and the water that fell from it dripped down through the floor into a great cistern, and this too was guarded by many overseers.

But later, when Depur had sent all the people back to their work, with much laughter and the stroke of the whip, then Ekkreth took on a form like to one of Depur's overseers, and they came and presented themself to Depur and said, "O Master, truly you are great and unassailable. But I have heard murmurings among your slaves, when they speak, as they think, in secret. And they say that Ekkreth the troublesome plans to steal the moon from you!"

Then Depur grew very angry, and he raged and stormed about his palace in wrath, but at last he turned with a snarl to the one he thought was an overseer and said, "Ekkreth is called clever, or so I hear, but no one will rob me of this prize."

So Ekkreth bowed low before Depur and said –

* * *

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

Anakin knelt, his head bowed and shoulders hunched, and made no effort to hold back the wheeze of his breath. Master needed him still, even after his failure to capture the Rebel Ekkreth. The Emperor would not risk his apprentice's death, not even to satisfy his rage. If he believed Vader to be more severely injured than he was in truth, well, that was simply the result of his apprentice's weakness, and certainly no deception. Vader never lied to his Master.

"Your failure," Emperor Palpatine said sourly, "has made the security of our most essential project all the more imperative. I wonder, Lord Vader, if you can even be trusted with it."

At that Anakin did allow himself to look up. His breath sharpened. "My Master, I assure you – "

"Silence," the Emperor snapped. "You are in no position to assure me of anything."

He stood, stepping away from his throne and moving to the large bank of glass that overlooked the skylanes of Coruscant. The last light of the failing sun shone around him, gilding the air and leaving the Emperor's form a dark shadow. Anakin remained on his knees.

"You will report to Moff Tarkin on the Death Star," Vader's Master said, an edge of cruel laughter in his voice. "I am charging you – "

* * *

" – with the safety of my prize," Depur declared. "The moon and all its water belong to me alone, and I am Lord and Master of Tatooine, of all its people and its animals and the desert itself. If you are faithful in your watch, I will make you chief overseer of all my slaves. But if you should fail, and Ekkreth should gain entrance, you will beg me for death before the end."

So Ekkreth bowed low once more and said, "It will be as you say, my Master." And they took charge of all the guards that Depur had set on the moon.

But that night, a terrible darkness came over the whole of the desert, because the moon had been stolen from the sky and did not give its light, and all the stars had turned dark with grief.

Then all the slaves arose in the middle night, just as Ekkreth had instructed them, and they began to sing and dance for joy in the streets.

So Ekkreth came and knocked with trembling hands on Depur's chamber door, and when Depur emerged they said, "Forgive me, my Master, for disturbing your rest. But my guards report that Ekkreth is abroad in the city, and all your slaves are singing in the streets."

Then Depur was full of anger, and he rushed out to his balcony and cried down to the people, "Slaves of Depur, what reason can you have for rejoicing?"

But Maru led all the people in answering, and she said, "O Master, we rejoice because the water has come!"

Now Depur knew that this was impossible, since he held the moon secure in many chains. So he turned to Ekkreth and said, "What is it these foolish slaves are talking about?"

And Ekkreth said, "My Master, I do not know. And it is too dark without the moon to tell."

Then Depur frowned to himself, and he thought long and hard, and finally he said, "Take a piece of the moon, only a small one, enough to see by, and go out in the streets and find what it is they are celebrating. For surely without the moon they can have no water."

So Ekkreth bowed to Depur, and they went to the place where the moon was chained and they took from it a portion of its light, only a third portion, so that the moon was dimmed but still strong in its radiance. And Ekkreth went out into the streets to investigate.

They visited every hovel and every kennel and every place in which the slaves were kept, and everywhere Ekkreth went, they brought the piece of the moon, and with it gave water to all the people. And finally Ekkreth came to the hovel where Maru was, and asked if the people there had a secret place. Then Maru ran to her mother and whispered to her, and darted out of the room, and when she returned, she held a small earthenware jar, painted blue.

So Ekkreth took the piece of the moon and hid it away in the jar, and they gave the jar to Maru and said, "You, daughter, who speak so wisely for the people, shall be keeper of this jar."

And Maru thanked Ekkreth and said, "I will keep it always safe."

Then Ekkreth returned to Depur's palace, and made a great show of returning the piece of the moon to its prison. But the light the moon gave remained dimmer than it had been.

And the next morning Ekkreth came trembling before Depur, and bowed, and said, "My Master, I know not how it happened, but someone has given your slaves water in the night, though the moon remains here in your power."

Then Depur was filled with a terrible rage, and he said –

* * *

"You will take your orders from Moff Tarkin, and he will expect full obedience. You may consider this your penance, Lord Vader."

"Yes, my Master," said Anakin. In the storm of his thoughts, there was a helpless rage, mingled with fear, resentment, and ever-present loathing. He allowed just enough contrition to draw his Master's disdain, but he did not allow himself to think that penance was an aptly chosen word, or to consider why.

"Understand this, Vader," the Emperor said. "I hold you personally responsible for the security of the Death Star. It is vital to the continued enforcement of order and stability in the galaxy."

Now at last the Emperor turned from the view of his mighty Empire and his baleful eyes fell once more on his apprentice. A slow, mocking smile slashed its way across his face. "The station's power will need to be tested, of course," he said. "I trust Governor Tarkin to select an appropriate target. And you, Lord Vader, will assist him. We must be certain that our greatest peacekeeping tool lives up to its promise."

The desert of Anakin's mind raged with storm, seething and all-consuming. He made no effort to stop it. Anything the Emperor might see there would be expected – his distaste for the Death Star was well-known to his Master. That was, after all, the point of this assignment. And he had known it would be.

Deep down, buried far beneath the raging sand and storm, so deep that Anakin himself was only half-aware of it, a quiet dread was growing.

And yet it had to be this way. He had always known this, had even intended it, when he had planned for the success of Fulcrum's mission on Kuat and his own failure to capture Ekkreth.

And so he dipped his head once more, ground his teeth, and said, "Yes, my Master."

"In spite of your incompetence, Lord Vader," his Master said, "the Rebellion can offer no serious threat to us. This spy Ekkreth – "

* * *

" – is no threat," said Depur. "Ekkreth is well known for tricks, but I will not be fooled. Let the trickster see what it means to defy Depur."

And so, on the second night Depur locked all of his slaves into their hovels and kennels, and he ordered thick, durasteel bars to be set over any windows. And then he said, "Now surely no one can bring them water, and I alone will be Master of the Desert."

But again that night, after the deep darkness had fallen, suddenly all the people began to sing and rejoice, and they sang so loudly that the noise of it reached Depur. Then he called for his chief overseer, who was Ekkreth, and he said, "Go, take a piece of the moon as light and see what it is that my slaves are clamoring over."

And Ekkreth went, taking again a third of the moon's light, and going from hovel to hovel, opening all the locks and releasing all the chains. And everywhere Ekkreth went, they brought the piece of the moon, and from it gave water to all the people.

Last of all Ekkreth came to the hovel where Maru was, and once more she went and found an earthenware jar, larger this time and painted green, and in this jar they hid the piece of the moon.

And then Ekkreth went back to Depur's palace, and made a great show of returning the piece of the moon that they had taken. But the moon's light remained dim, for it shone now with only a third part of its radiance.

But Depur suspected nothing, for –

* * *

Governor Tarkin, Anakin found, was only more insufferable when he was assured of his power. He relished his control over Darth Vader and made no secret of it.

"I wish you could just kill him," Kadee said, her servos humming as she worried over Anakin's secondary respirator, which had been damaged in his last meeting with Depur.

Anakin sat perfectly still in his hyperbaric chamber, partly because the numerous tubes connecting his body to the device made it difficult to do otherwise, but mainly because he'd have to face Kadee's wrath if he so much as attempted to move.

"So do I," he said drily. "But that's the trouble with being demoted. You can't just kill your superiors. You need a very good excuse."

"I suppose Depur wouldn't believe that Tarkin is a traitor?" Kadee asked, though they both already knew the answer. Tarkin was and always had been the Emperor's favorite Moff.

"No," said Anakin. "But at least he can be managed."

Kadee buzzed in excitement. "What did you do?"

Here in the privacy of his medical pod, with no one but Kadee to hear, Anakin allowed himself a slight laugh. "There's some trouble in the exhaust system," he said. "A minor problem, but the Emperor's pet project must be without flaw. Our wise Moff has heard, no doubt from Depur, that I have an aptitude for mechanical study, and has charged me with going over the plans to find the flaw."

It was meant, of course, to be degrading – such menial work should have been delegated to junior officers, and Vader should only have been dealing with their reports. Anakin thought he'd made quite a good show of barely controlled resentment when Tarkin "asked" him to look into the plans. Certainly the Moff had seemed pleased with himself.

Kadee let out a rapid string of trilling beeps: her version of laughter.

"Would you like to help?" Anakin asked with a smile.

"Well, that depends," said Kadee. "Will you sit still long enough for me to repair your respirator?"

Anakin let out a longsuffering sigh. Or tried to, anyway. It ended on a wheeze, which wasn't particularly helpful for his argument. "Very well," he said stiffly. "I'm not expected to report for several hours. That should be enough time."

"Just enough," said Kadee, clacking one of her claw-like appendages at him in disapproval.

"I'll need to have something _to_ report," Anakin prodded unrepentantly. But she couldn't really have expected anything different.

"Oh all right," the little droid said at last.

Anakin smiled to himself as he brought up the schematics, the plans he'd tried for years now to gain access to. In the end, it had been simple enough. He'd only needed to fail in just the right way.

It was an old lesson. Depur's power lay in strength and absolute control. But Ekkreth –

* * *

– made weakness their strength. They bowed low before Depur the next morning and said, "O great Master, though all the doors were locked and all the windows barred, still someone has brought water to your slaves in the night."

And Depur was very angry indeed with his chief enforcer, but clever Ekkreth said, "My Master, your slaves do not fear me, nor any of your enforcers, because they believe that their Mother watches over them, and sends them water in the night, and they expect still that Ekkreth the deceiver will trick you, and steal back the moon. For they do not see you, great Depur, not as we do. Your slaves are insolent because they see that we are only mortal. But if you will go among them and show forth your power, surely then they will cower and acknowledge you Master of the Desert."

Now Depur was pleased with this counsel, for he was very arrogant. And he went out among the people and found them all at work in their places, and every slave cowered as he passed by, for Ekkreth had told the people what they should do.

Then Depur came to the place where Maru worked, cleaning the pens of Depur's beasts, and he recognized her as the girl who had spoken fearlessly to him before. So he said to her, "Well, girl. Now you have seen the might of Depur and the futility of opposing me. Are you so defiant now? What do you say to me?"

But Maru stood up straight and looked Depur in the eye. And she said, "My Master, you are great and terrible indeed, and all tremble before you. But even you, though you steal the moon from the sky, cannot keep the water from us. For Ar-Amu protects us."

And then Depur flew into a towering rage, so that all the people shrank back before him, but he was not appeased, and in his fury he ordered that all his slaves should be locked away, though it was not yet the middle of the day, and forbidden from leaving their hovels. And so it was done.

So all the people rested that day, for they had been taken from their work, and no labor was done for all the rest of that day.

Then Ekkreth said, "My Master, surely now –

* * *

– the Rebels will learn to fear this station." Anakin held himself stiff, almost at attention, and waited until Tarkin glanced up from his report. He allowed himself a smile that Tarkin would never see. "But you are a fool, Governor, if you think that will be enough to end this rebellion."

Tarkin's face twisted in a sneer. There was no one else present, and Anakin had learned long ago that the Moff's icy veneer of civility was only kept for company. That was fair enough. After all, the same was true of Vader himself.

"You forget yourself, Vader," Tarkin snapped. "The Rebellion remains a threat because of your incompetence." Now his sneer became something crueler: a smile. "The Emperor did not give you to me as a military advisor. I suggest you remember that."

"I assure you," Anakin said, "I remember it always."

Tarkin looked as him sharply, but whatever he was looking for, he could find no evidence of it in Vader's blank death mask. "Very well," he said at last. "You are dismissed." Even as he spoke, he was already turning back to his report.

Anakin waited a moment longer, because the appearance of insolence was vital, and because he could feel Tarkin's annoyance surging in waves and he was not above enjoying it. But finally and without a word, he spun on his heel and left the Moff to his report full of lies and to the false certainty –

* * *

– of his power. So certain was Depur, in fact, that he declared he would celebrate his absolute victory with a great feast the next day, when the water did not come. And he went to sleep that night with a cruel smile on his face.

But late in the night, out of the deep darkness, once more the song of the slaves rose to the shadowed stars. They sang more joyfully and loudly than ever before, and their song was so great that it woke Depur from his sleep. Then in a rage he called his chief enforcer to him, and said, "Go, take a piece of the moon as light and go out and see what causes my slaves to make this clamor. And I give you leave to do whatever is necessary to stop their yowling."

So Ekkreth went once more and took a third part of the moon's light, so that the moon became a dead thing with no brightness to it, and they went out to all the hovels and the kennels, opening locks and removing chains. And everywhere Ekkreth went, they brought the piece of the moon and gave water to the people.

And last of all Ekkreth came to the house where Maru was, and again she went and came back with an earthenware jar, this one the largest of all, and it was painted red. And in this jar Ekkreth hid the last piece of the moon, and then they gave it into Maru's keeping, and returned to Depur's palace.

And when the morning came and Depur learned that someone had once more brought water to his slaves in the night, then he was filled with a terrible cold fury, and he struck his chief enforcer, who was Ekkreth, and said, "You have failed me, and I regret the day I made you my chief enforcer."

Then at last Depur went to the place where the moon was kept imprisoned, and he ordered the guards to unbar the doors so that he might see his prize. But when he went in, he saw only a dead hunk of rock, for all the light had gone out of the moon. And the guards seeing Depur's face trembled with fear.

But Ekkreth laughed. "Know this, O my Master," they said. "I am Ekkreth, and I have tricked you. You can never hold the moon, and you can never hold me."

And then, still laughing, Ekkreth became a bird and flew away, and Depur was left with only a dead lump of stone, and the song of his slaves ringing in his ears.

But that night the deep darkness fell again, for there was no moon in the sky. And the slaves were once more locked in their hovels and kennels, but again Ekkreth came in the night and broke all the chains and released them.

Then Maru and her parents took the three earthenware jars that they had hidden, and opened them beneath the sky. And Maru prayed to Ar-Amu, saying, "O Mother, hear the cry of your children. For without the moon we are lost. Deliver us."

And Ar-Amu heard her, and the three jars split asunder and their light rose into the sky. But they did not join again. On that night, Ar-Amu worked a great wonder, for three new moons rose in the sky. From the smallest jar, painted blue, arose Echuni, the little secret, the hidden one, who shines with a blue light, and who moves swiftest through the sky, the smallest of the moons. From the second jar, painted green, there arose Tenarakin, the grower, the one who makes the green things to grow, who shines with a double portion of Echuni's light, and is the midmost of the moons, moving neither swift nor slow. And from the last jar, painted red, arose Amakuuna, the Mother's promise, who shines with a great radiance, mightiest of all the moons, whose path is slow and deliberate across the sky, and who shines with a red light on the night of Bentu Depuraak, to mark Ar-Amu's promise to the people that they will be free, and there will be a Reckoning of the Masters.

So that is the tale of how Depur stole the moon from the sky, and how Ekkreth the Sky-walker stole it back thrice over, and Maru gave light and water to the world. Let all the people remember.

I tell you this story –

* * *

" – to save your life," Anakin whispered, though the connection had already been cut, and Leia would not have understood anyway.

But she would see it done. He had no doubt of that. The plans were safe in her hands, and Depur's monstrous false moon would not long remain in the sky. And Tarkin would not outlive it.

 _I tell you this story to save your life._

"I will remember," said Kadee beside him, and it was enough.

* * *

There are as many Ekkreth stories as there are slaves on Tatooine, which is to say, there are stories without number, and more every day.

This is one of them.


	13. Empire Day

It's my birthday! So here, have a fic about Leia Organa and birthdays.

This one takes place at three separate points in the timeline. The first scene is Leia's eighth birthday, which is five years after Shape-Changer and before all the other stories.

The second scene is Leia's seventeenth birthday, in the midst of her time as Senator, after she's met Ekkreth and begun her training in the Force.

The final scene is set between ANH and ESB, pretty shortly after Children of the Force.

Warnings in this one for: a public execution (and a child being made to watch), mention of sexual harassment, and Tarkin being a generally awful human being.

But on the plus side you get Leia bonding with her parents, Anakin cheering himself up with murder, a glimpse at Alderaani religious practice, and even some hints of Leia/Han at the end.

* * *

 **Empire Day**

When Leia was very young, she'd thought that the whole galaxy was celebrating her birthday.

Every year on that day, the palace was decorated with a stunning array of flowers, and lights glittered on every tree and in every fountain. Every year her mother took the day away from the court, and most years her father managed to come back from Coruscant for the occasion, and they would all escape together for a few hours up into the mountains, where Leia's grandparents still kept their famous herd of nerfs. Leia would splash in the stream and weave flower crowns with her mother, and the two of them would chase her father, pelting him with flowers, until they all fell down laughing and got all their fine clothes covered in grass stains.

And then they would return to the palace, where a feast of Leia's favorite foods waited, and all of her friends were invited to dinner, and she was allowed to stay up far past her bedtime.

And every year, after all of her friends had gone home, and all the marks of festivity had been cleared away, Leia would go out on one of the high balconies with her parents, and the three of them would stretch out on a blanket and look up at the stars.

But there were other things that happened every year on her birthday, too. Black and white banners were unfurled in the streets, even though her favorite color was blue. Lines of stormtroopers marched in formation, though Leia thought that as parades went it was rather boring. They didn't even have any flowers.

And every year on her birthday, the Emperor's face would appear on every holoscreen in Aldera – even in the palace. The Emperor talked for a long time, and he never said anything interesting, but Mama and Papa always listened to the whole thing.

As she grew older, Leia began to understand that all of these things were not for her. Her birthday fell on Empire Day, and the banners and parades and boring speeches were all in honor of that. She was both disappointed and relieved. At least that meant she wasn't expected to like such dull things.

She didn't truly understand, though, until her eighth birthday.

* * *

The year that Leia turned eight, Moff Tarkin came to visit her mother. Leia hated him instantly.

He spoke very politely and observed all the proper pleasantries with the Queen, and he mostly ignored Leia. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong about him. And his smile never looked real. It reminded her of a Tyrran lizard: all teeth and venom.

That year, for the first time, they didn't go to the mountains. Instead, Papa took Leia out to the gardens. He explained that Mama wanted very much to go with them to the mountains, but that she had to stay here and talk with Governor Tarkin. He looked very unhappy as he said it, and Leia felt a tug of fear in the pit of her stomach. Mama and Papa were always smiling. But not with Moff Tarkin.

That evening, when they should have been feasting with Leia's friends, there was a big fancy state dinner instead. Leia hated state dinners. They were long and boring and she had to wear the most uncomfortable clothes and sit still and quiet the whole time.

This dinner was different than others, though. This time, Moff Tarkin had the seat of honor, and Queen Breha sat beside him, as though she were the guest in her own dining room. Leia sat between her parents and listened to Tarkin welcome his guests and propose a toast to the Empire, to their glorious Emperor, and to the brave members of the Imperial military who kept them all safe and free.

Leia glowered at that. She didn't feel very free at all.

But her mother tapped her foot under the table, and Leia turned back to her dinner, biting her tongue. She'd seen something new and strange in her mother's face, something almost like fear.

When the main course had been cleared, just as dessert should have been served, two stormtroopers came into the hall, dragging a struggling young woman between them.

Leia watched her mother stand stiffly, her severe Queen's face settling over her like one of the painted masks the actors wore in traditional drama, fixed and impassive.

"What is the meaning of this?" Queen Breha demanded.

But now Moff Tarkin was standing too, smiling his lizard's smile. "Your pardon, Your Majesty, for the unexpected interruption. But this woman was caught just today attempting to access confidential Imperial files. She has been positively identified as an agent of the Rebellion."

There was a sharp collective gasp. Leia's eyes were fixed on her mother's face.

Queen Breha stood as though carved from stone, cold and unmoving and, Leia thought with a surge of fear, horribly fragile.

"Such betrayal is unforgivable at any time," Tarkin said. "But today of all days, when we celebrate the birthday of our glorious Empire…today it cannot be tolerated."

Leia felt more than saw her father tense beside her. "Leia," he said softly, but in the breathless silence of the room, his voice seemed thunderously loud. "It's time you went to bed. Say goodnight, please."

She'd never heard Papa sound so terribly calm. Leia didn't even think of arguing with him. She rose from her seat and curtsied to the assembled guests.

But before she could go, Moff Tarkin turned and fixed his smirking gaze directly on the Queen. "No," he said. "Let the girl stay. It will be educational for her."

A long moment of silence passed. Tarkin and the Queen seemed to be holding some terrible wordless battle, and the air was heavy with some unknown possibility. Leia wanted very badly to escape from that room, to get away from Tarkin's venomous smile and the slowly growing look of despair in her mother's eyes.

"Sit down, Leia," Queen Breha whispered at last.

Leia sat. Her mother sat too, her hand clasping Leia's in a grip so tight it almost hurt. Her father took her other hand, and she could feel his trembling.

"On this most celebrated day," Tarkin declared, "let all loyal citizens of the Empire rest assured that the Emperor's justice will be swift and righteous."

He gestured sharply, and the squad of stormtroopers who had followed the prisoner and her guards in now formed a line against the far wall.

Two troopers still held the woman between them, her hands bound in front of her, her eyes blazing with anger. She lunged forward in their grip and spat at Tarkin. "That's your justice, _sleemo_ ," she snarled.

But Tarkin was unmoved. He merely raised one eyebrow, cast another laughing glance at Leia's parents, and said, "Fire."

For the barest instant, the prisoner stood tall and defiant. Her eyes met the Queen's, and then they caught and held Leia's.

Leia could hardly breathe. There was something terrible and beautiful in the woman's eyes.

And then there was the sharp sound of blaster fire, and those bright eyes went glassy and cold, and the woman slumped to the floor. Everything was silent.

"Now," said Moff Tarkin. "I believe we are expecting dessert?"

Later that night, as Leia huddled between her parents in their bed and none of them slept, she thought that Tarkin had been right about one thing, at least.

It had been educational.

* * *

Leia turned seventeen on Coruscant, in the midst of the most overblown Empire Day celebration she'd ever experienced. There were parades. There was a public speech by the Emperor, surrounded by pomp and ceremony on the steps of the Imperial Palace. There were speeches from countless senators and Moffs and worthies of Coruscant society, all praising Palpatine profusely. There were demonstrations of military might throughout the day, and fireworks at night. And of course there was the annual Senate gala.

Leia had always hated Senate galas. They were raucous, glitzy affairs, each seemingly more pointless than the last. And she invariably had to deal with sleazy senators twenty years or more her senior, leering at her and making the sort of disgusting commentary that passed for humor in this place.

Whenever possible Leia avoided these overwrought celebrations, but unfortunately for her, she usually had no choice. Especially not on Empire Day.

She'd now lived on Coruscant for just under a year, and she'd attended twenty-three galas.

It was probably her least favorite aspect of her work, and that was saying something. On her last visit home to Alderaan, her father had laughed at her when she told him as much, and then admitted with a rueful grin that it had been the same for him.

"The hardest part for me was always keeping a neutral face," Bail had said. "You hear things that just – "

He hadn't finished, but he hadn't needed to. Leia knew all too well the sort of things that were said at Imperial galas.

"I used to practice in front of a mirror," Breha had said, raising her shoulders in a laughing shrug when Leia and Bail both looked at her in surprise. "What? It sounds silly, I know. But it works."

It did work, though Leia wasn't sure she'd ever find the courage to tell her mother that. But she now felt fairly confident that she could keep a straight face even if the Emperor himself were to suddenly stand up and start dancing a jig.

Well, all right. If that happened, Ekkreth's shielding techniques would definitely prove useful, too.

Leia kept her expression painfully neutral while allowing herself an internal laugh. She had to find something to take her mind off the tedium. And it wasn't as though she could socialize with any of her fellow Rebel agents, so any genuine conversation was out.

For the barest instant, Leia's eyes caught Pooja Naberrie's across the room, and a knowing look passed between them. Just as quickly she turned back to the ongoing prattle of the honorable delegates representing Senex and Uyter. She didn't need to worry that she'd missed anything. They weren't discussing anything of note.

As far as she could tell, tonight's gala was no different than any other Senate function, in spite of the grand occasion. With one exception.

The crowd of people swarming for Palpatine's favor parted briefly and she caught sight of a stark black shape towering up beside the much frailer form of the Emperor. For the first time that she'd seen at one of these events, Darth Vader was in attendance. And he didn't look happy about it.

Well, that wasn't entirely fair. Leia supposed he looked exactly the same as he always did, which was never happy. If the mask lent him any sense of emotion at all, it was probably anger. But not a hot-tempered anger. Something cold and implacable.

At the moment, that was more than a little misleading. He was definitely annoyed.

Leia allowed herself another internal chuckle. She'd been right, apparently, all those galas ago and before she'd even met Ekkreth, when she'd imagined that Darth Vader would be just as disgusted by the display as she was.

But it was more than that. Her amusement slipped as she realized what it must mean, that his annoyance was so evident in the Force.

It was part of his shield.

Oh, she didn't doubt he really was disgusted. He'd told her that the shield worked best if you used emotions you really felt. But it was just as important to use emotions that your enemy would expect to find – emotions that they could believe you might have wished to hide, and therefore believe they'd read you fully and not look any further.

And that meant that Ekkreth's annoyance with this gala was not only genuine, but also fully expected by the Emperor.

Leia's gaze shifted back to Palpatine, who was receiving his sycophants with a bare minimum of attention, though anyone would have thought, watching their faces, that they were being lavished with praise and acknowledgement.

Her disgust deepened, tinged with something almost like pity. If _she_ was Emperor, Leia thought, she would certainly have found ways to entertain herself that didn't involve tormenting her underlings.

In his own way, Leia realized with a start, Palpatine was really quite pathetic.

"Ah, Princess Organa," someone said just beside her, and Leia was grateful once more for her training, both in espionage and in the Force. She didn't jump.

"Moff Pirus," she said coolly, waiting a full three breaths before turning to face him. "How pleasant to see you."

The Moff of the Chommel Sector regarded her with a smirking condescension that told her he didn't believe her for an instant. "The pleasure is all mine, Princess," he said. "I _have_ been hoping to speak with you for some time."

A surge of sudden, sharp foreboding rose in Leia. She locked it ruthlessly behind her shields, and gave Pirus only what he expected.

"Have you?" Leia asked, the picture of polite surprise.

"Indeed," the Moff said. His smirk deepened. "Regarding a matter of some delicacy. If you're free?" And he gestured carelessly behind him, indicating the series of balconies jutting out from the hall and overlooking Coruscant's theater district. They were secluded places, and Leia knew that each was equipped with further privacy screens. The better to facilitate political discourse, she thought bitterly.

She looked up at Pirus and raised one eyebrow, hoping to disguise the sudden queasiness in her stomach. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Lead on, then," she said brightly, and followed him to one of the alcoves. But she kept her senses sharp.

Something nudged against her mind, and Leia felt herself relax just slightly. Ekkreth wouldn't risk mental communication, not here where he stood so close to the Emperor, but the reminder of his presence was a relief in itself. And it was a reminder, too, of everything she could do. She had the Force, and more importantly, she had her wits.

She was more than capable of handling Moff Pirus.

They stepped out onto the balcony, and Pirus immediately engaged the privacy screens. He turned to her with a sharp-toothed smile.

"I wonder, Princess Organa, if you know what it is we celebrate on this day," he said.

Leia regarded him levelly. "Why, the victory of order over chaos, of course," she said, offering him a smirk of her own.

The Moff's eyes narrowed, but Leia only met his gaze evenly, and at last, with evident displeasure, Pirus said, "Indeed. We celebrate the birth of our prosperous Empire from the ashes of the old Republic's decadence." Something of his vicious humor returned as he added, "But perhaps not all of us celebrate this day truly."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Leia said easily. "I'm afraid I'm still not used to the complexities of Coruscant life." She affected an apologetic, girlish shrug. "Life is much simpler on Alderaan."

"How pleasant that must be," Pirus said sourly. "Very well, Princess, I will speak plainly. Because you are still new to us, and perhaps unaware of – how did you put it? – ah yes, the complexities of Coruscant life, you may not be aware of the dangers of certain associations. There are some within this Senate who are widely believed to be party to Rebel sympathies. You would do well not to associate yourself too closely with such likely traitors."

Leia's blood ran cold, but nothing of her fear showed on her face. The rush of apprehension she felt was channeled as confusion and innocent dismay. "Whoever could you mean?"

For a moment Pirus simply glared suspiciously at her. In spite of the danger, Leia had to fight back the urge to laugh. He was not at all subtle, and his outrageous mustache only made the image more ridiculous. She was severely tempted to tell him that it looked as though a badly mauled rodent had died on his face, but she wasn't feeling charitable.

At last he said, "Senator Pooja Naberrie of Naboo has demonstrated clear Rebel sympathies."

Leia allowed herself a faint start of surprise. "Moff Pirus, that is quite an accusation to make. And against the Senator representing the Emperor's own home planet, who hails from your own jurisdiction. Do you have any proof of this?"

The Moff's scowl only deepened, and Leia relaxed internally, just a little. If he had no proof, they could still salvage the situation.

"That will shortly be seen, Princess," he said. "I intend to present evidence to Lord Vader shortly. But I advise you to look to your own reputation before it is irreparably damaged. It would be a great pity, if your own loyalty to our glorious Empire were to come into doubt."

Leia kept her face carefully blank, though only with difficulty. She hoped he did present himself to Vader. She could just see it, Pirus and his ridiculous dead-rodent mustache, puffed up with self-importance as he offered up his evidence.

Of course, she doubted he was expecting to tell Vader only about Pooja. Pirus was not nearly as clever as he clearly believed, and it was obvious enough to Leia what he was attempting here. Whether or not he had any real evidence against Pooja was secondary. He was hoping that Leia would leave this meeting and try to warn the other woman, and that he might then catch two Rebels in a single net.

A net called Vader, she thought with a mental grin that showed no trace of itself outwardly.

"I thank you for your concern," Leia said. She kept her voice flat, afraid she might laugh if she allowed any hint of inflection. Pirus, no doubt, thought she was trying to put a brave face on it.

The Moff was regarding her with thinly veiled triumph in his eyes. Leia bit the inside of her lip. If she stayed out here much longer, she was going to laugh out loud, and that would be impossible to explain.

"Please excuse me," she managed. "I promised Senator Hulstra a dance, and if I don't deliver soon, I'll miss my chance." Then she swept away from the balcony without a backward glance.

Of course, the downside of that excuse was that she really did have to dance with Senator Hulstra. But the senator from Cerea was less odious than many of her other colleagues, and at least he limited his conversation to the glories of the Empire and the praises of their illustrious Emperor, and never once complimented her appearance or tried to stare down her dress.

The dance ended, and Leia beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the refreshments. The evening was still young. It would be at least two hours yet before she could reasonably make her escape.

But there was one person, at least, who seemed even more eager to be gone than her.

Ekkreth was no longer trailing in the Emperor's wake. Palpatine had taken his seat on the raised dais overlooking the ballroom, along with Grand Vizier Sate Pestage and a gaggle of councilors, bureaucrats, and sycophants, each seemingly more shriveled and colorless than the last. Like a brood of maggots swarming over a corpse.

Vader stood some distance away from the Emperor, surrounded by his own pack of Moffs. But unlike Palpatine, who was clearly the sun around which all of his satellites orbited, Vader looked more like some wild creature hemmed in a cage.

The thought caused that now familiar surge of protective anger to spark somewhere in her gut. Before she could think better of it, Leia sent Ekkreth a mental nudge, followed by a teasing question: _Why, Lord Vader, don't you like Empire Day?_

She'd expected at least a trace of amusement, maybe a mental chuckle or some scathingly sarcastic reply, but his answer came back clipped and final. _No._

Leia suppressed a shiver. Ekkreth didn't even sound angry. His tone was one of bleak resignation. The last time she'd heard him speak that way, he'd been unable to stand. She could still hear the wheeze of his breath as he told her, flatly, that whatever Palpatine had done to injure him wasn't important.

 _I'm sorry_ , she thought, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for, but meaning it all the same. This was only her first Empire Day on Coruscant, and she already felt unimaginably tired. She wondered how many of these events Ekkreth had endured.

He didn't answer, which meant he was either ignoring her or he needed to focus on his outward reality.

So Leia let him have his silence and instead swept her gaze over the group of Moffs gathered around Ekkreth. Most of them were relatively unimportant, as far as Imperial governors went, but Tarkin was there. Or as she'd taken to calling him, Moff Sleemo. Ekkreth seemed to appreciate the name, and he'd even used it once or twice himself.

The sight of Tarkin brought her mind back to that first Empire Day, the first time she'd known the true significance of this day that was also, coincidentally, her birthday. Leia could still see the captured Rebel's eyes and hear the defiance in her voice as Tarkin gave the command to carry out the Emperor's justice.

It was Tarkin who seemed to be the primary speaker now. Leia watched him surreptitiously from across the room, sipping slowly at her punch and nibbling on some lovely, nearly tasteless dainty that probably cost more than an entire meal at a place like Dex's. She would have preferred Dex's.

Leia wasn't quite as good at lip-reading as her mother, but she was passable, and it was easy enough to work out what Tarkin was talking about.

They seemed to be discussing the slew of information leaks that had plagued Imperial Intelligence for the last several months. Leia watched Tarkin's lips still, and when no one else's moved either, she realized that Vader must be answering. She hid a smile behind her punch glass and savored the irony.

Then Tarkin was speaking again, saying something about the necessity of making an example, of the power of fear as a motivator, and Leia was done paying attention. She'd heard that particular screed too many times before.

 _We may have an information leak of our own_ , she thought. _Or more likely a jealous and power-hungry Moff who's managed to grasp at the right straw through sheer dumb luck._

 _Oh?_ Ekkreth said – a single word, but Leia was relieved to hear some spark of interest and life return to his mental voice.

 _Moff Pirus has some very interesting theories to share with you_ , she thought. _On the subject of suspected Rebel traitors._

 _How very…convenient_ , Ekkreth thought. Leia felt a momentary, startling flash of dark satisfaction, and then Ekkreth's mind was closed to her entirely.

He remained walled away for the rest of the evening. Eventually Leia gave up on trying to get through; she knew from experience it was impossible. So instead she spent two more tedious hours engaged in wonderfully stimulating conversation about holo dramas, this year's hot vacation spots, and the latest fashions. Apparently, black was in this year.

Her companion glanced pointedly at Leia's own white gown, and Leia fought the urge to roll her eyes. The Emperor was still sitting on his throne, surveying the room with the expression of someone absolutely assured of his power: at once sharp-eyed and indolent. He was, as always, wearing black.

Finally, just as she was beginning to think she could endure no more, the Emperor rose. Leia watched as Ekkreth fell into step behind him, and ground her teeth. His mind was still a closed door.

But just before he swept entirely from the room, the door opened the barest crack, and she heard, _Meet me tomorrow at 2300._

Leia didn't bother answering. The Emperor was gone, so there was no longer anything to keep her here, and she thought she might scream if she stayed a moment longer. With only the barest of apologies to her companions, she took her leave.

* * *

It was already 0130 by the time she arrived back at her apartment, which meant it was well into the middle night in Aldera. A persistent beeping at her com station told her she'd missed her parents' birthday call.

Fiura greeted her at the door with a bright smile that didn't quite manage to hide her exhaustion. It had been a long night for everyone, seemingly.

Leia started to say something, she wasn't even sure what, but her aide took one look at Leia's stormy face and steered her instantly into the dressing room. "There's hot mountain tea and jam tarts, Your Highness," Fiura said briskly. "And I took the liberty of ordering something from Dex's. I know how you hate these galas."

Leia spun around and hugged her, startling a yelp out of Fiura and a laugh from Leia. "Thank you," she said. "I think this has been the second worst birthday of my life. But this…this helps. Thank you, Fiura. Really."

Fiura pulled away from the embrace, smiling. "Of course, Leia," she said, and Leia felt her own smile widen. It wasn't often that Fiura addressed her by name.

Leia sank into the chair at her vanity with a long, exaggerated sigh. The smell of food and the green, woody scent of the tea went a long way toward easing her annoyance.

Fiura started on the complicated process of taking down her hair, while Leia tore into the takeout with relish. It was greasy and smothered in cheese and Dex's unidentifiable "special sauce," and in that moment she thought she'd never tasted anything better.

"The Queen commed while you were gone, Your Highness," Fiura said, her fingers carding through Leia's unbound hair. "There's a message waiting on the com station."

"Thank you, Fiura," Leia murmured.

She finished her meal, and Fiura finished arranging Leia's hair to her satisfaction and wished her princess good night. Leia sat still for a moment, eyes closed, and simply breathed. Then she moved into her bedroom and activated the com.

Breha and Bail smiled out at her from the recorded holo. "Hello, love," her mother said. "We're sorry to miss you. Your father and I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday." To the casual observer, nothing in the Queen's face changed, but Leia saw her mother's smile turn strained as she added, "And a happy Empire Day too, of course."

"We love you so much, Leia," her father said. "And we're so very proud of you."

"I love you too, Mama, Papa," Leia whispered as the holo faded away.

* * *

She had no meetings scheduled for the next morning, and she'd been looking forward to sleeping in, but Fiura woke her early. Any reproof Leia might have made died on her lips. Fiura's eyes were wide and frightened.

"Your Highness," she said. "I think you'd better take a look at this."

She handed Leia a datapad. On it was an official Imperial proclamation, announcing that Moff Pirus of the Chommel Sector had been found a traitor to the Empire, working in collusion with the terrorist organization known as the Rebel Alliance. What became of him was not said, but it didn't need to be.

Leia stared down at the report and tried to decide how she felt. It was obvious enough, now, what Ekkreth must have meant by "convenient."

For months now Darth Vader had been hunting for the source of the information leaks. It was an incredibly dangerous game to play, and Leia thought that if he had been anyone else, he could never have pulled it off. But the Emperor seemed to trust Vader implicitly. Or, more accurately, he trusted absolutely in his own control over Vader. It was a rather startling oversight, Leia thought, for a man who seemed to plan and analyze everything else to a nicety.

Fiura was watching her closely, so Leia kept her face carefully neutral as she looked up.

"Pirus wasn't – " Fiura began, but Leia cut her off before she could say too much.

"No. He wasn't."

Fiura's eyes narrowed, and then she nodded decisively. "Well. That's all right, then. I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, but he was a sleemo."

That much was certainly true. Leia could think of few people better to take the fall, other than Tarkin himself. And Tarkin as a Rebel agent would have passed the threshold of belief.

"Still," said Fiura, "you were seen talking privately with him at the gala last night, Your Highness. It could reflect badly on you."

Leia blinked, then threw her head back and laughed. It was a long time before she'd calmed herself enough to explain to Fiura just what was so funny.

* * *

For the first time in a very long time, Ekkreth arrived at their meeting place before Leia. She found him with his hands clasped at his belt, staring out over the murky skyline of Coruscant's industrial district.

"You killed Moff Pirus," Leia announced without preamble. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," said Ekkreth. He didn't turn.

Leia blinked in surprise. She'd known he had, of course. But she hadn't expected him to admit it so baldly.

"He was a Rebel spy," Ekkreth added, without a trace of irony or sarcasm. "I followed Governor Tarkin's advice and…made an example of him."

Finally he turned to look at her. A sudden jet of flame from a distant refinery reflected red and livid off the planes of his helmet, and Leia was reminded of the masks worn to represent the spirits in Alderaanian theater. Torhu, she thought. The spirit of destruction.

The thought wasn't new, but this time it didn't carry with it the usual sense of apprehension. It felt…right, somehow. Torhu's appearance in a drama always signified some great change, or the execution of some necessary justice.

Perhaps it should have bothered her more than it really did. She was, after all, if not directly responsible for then at least an unwitting accomplice in the Moff's death. But her primary emotion was one of relief. Pooja would be safe, and the Chommel sector would be free of Pirus.

Leia didn't know what to say and so, of course, what emerged when she opened her mouth was something flippant. "Well," she said, "it's certainly the most unique birthday present I've ever received."

Ekkreth went suddenly very still. She could feel his eyes boring into her behind the lenses of his mask.

"Yesterday was…your birthday?" he said at last, something strange and hesitant coloring his voice.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Leia said with a laugh that was more bitterness than mirth. "I can't imagine a less appropriate day."

Ekkreth was still staring at her. Leia shifted, rocking back on the balls of her feet. She wondered if he knew how unnerving his stare was. But surely he must. That was the point of the mask, after all.

"On the contrary," Ekkreth said softly. "It seems very appropriate indeed."

"I don't see how," Leia muttered.

"It is only fitting," said Ekkreth, "that with Depur's Empire should be born the seed of its destruction."

Leia gaped at him. "What?" she asked, the words drawn from her in a half-involuntary whisper. "Me?"

"Yes," said Ekkreth, as though it should have been self-evident. "You are Leia."

What was that supposed to mean? Of course she was Leia. And if anyone could be called the seed of Palpatine's destruction, surely it was Ekkreth himself.

Leia said so. But Ekkreth only looked at her.

"I have sworn the destruction of my Master," he said slowly. The jet of flame had faded from the skyline, and now his mask was cast in deep shadow and his voice seemed almost to echo, as though it were not one, but many. "Depur will fall, and all his slavers and his weapons with him. But what comes after – that will be for you to decide. And only then will his failure be complete."

A surge of foreboding washed over Leia. He was talking almost like –

"But you'll be there too," she insisted. "In the world that comes after."

His mask tilted to one side and he looked at her long and searchingly. At last he said, "We should practice your shielding. Not everyone will be so easily fooled as Moff Pirus."

Leia frowned. It was an obvious evasion, and for that reason she knew she would get no more out of him. She'd never known Ekkreth to lie (at least not to her), but he was very good at ignoring questions he did not wish to answer.

So she let it go for now, but in the silence of her own heart, locked deep beneath her shields, Leia made herself a promise. The Empire would fall, and there would be a new, freer galaxy to follow. And Ekkreth would live to see it.

* * *

Leia turned twenty in a Rebel base tucked away in the rocky cliffs of rain-lashed Panoor. She hadn't even realized what day it was, until General Dodonna, his face lit by a smile that was trying far too hard, wished her a happy birthday.

She thanked him with a smile just as false. These mountains felt nothing like home, and she hadn't once seen the stars since they'd come to Panoor.

But she hadn't accounted for the celebration of Empire Day. The celebration of Empire Day _on a Rebel base_.

It started around midday (if day it could be called, in the perpetual dark and storm of Panoor), when someone, probably one of the pilots, commandeered the base's intercom system and announced, "Loyal citizens of the Empire! Today, we celebrate our glorious Emperor Palpatine!"

A round of boos and jeers was heard from every corner of the base. Leia was in one of the larger hangars at the time, and the sound was nearly deafening.

"Citizens, I share your joy!" the voice continued. Leia was now almost certain it belonged to Luke's friend Biggs Darklighter. "And to mark this momentous occasion, you are all invited to a party this evening in the main hangar bay, where we will honor His Illustrious Majesty with an effigy I'm told is shockingly lifelike."

This time, laughter echoed through the base, and Leia heard someone shout, "Good! I could use some target practice!"

"More importantly," Biggs continued, "I've heard that we have two birthdays today! Two of our Emperor's very favorite people: our Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker!"

An enormous cheer went up, and the crowd of people nearest Leia took up a chant of her name. Further off, she caught echoes of Luke's.

"Our birthday twins will, of course, have the first audience with His Imperial Mightiness. The rest of you will just have to wait your turn."

A surge of good-natured groans sounded. Leia heard the muffled sounds of Biggs' laughter. And with that, the intercom cut out.

She stretched out with her feelings and found Luke almost instantly. He was evidently looking for her, too, because she felt his surprise at the ease of the mental contact, and then a moment later the warm, radiant feeling of his laughter.

"Hi birthday twin," Luke said with a rueful smile when they met a moment later in the corridor between hangars. His X-Wing was housed in a smaller bay off the main hangar.

Leia snorted. "Hi yourself. You never said your birthday was coming up."

"Neither did you," Luke said, falling into step beside her as they both headed for the mess. "Pretty awful day for a birthday, isn't it?"

Leia thought of Ekkreth, and for the first time that day, a genuine smile lit her face. "I don't know," she said. "I used to think so. But…my teacher said something that changed my mind."

Luke faltered slightly, and then kept walking, but she knew she had his full attention. It wasn't often she told him anything about her teacher.

"It's only fitting," said Leia with a soft smile of memory, "that with Palpatine's Empire should be born the seed of its destruction."

"Your teacher said that?" Luke asked, his voice low and strangely startled.

"Yes," said Leia, watching him curiously. "It was meant to cheer me up, I think, but it was meant in earnest, too."

"I like that," Luke said softly. He'd stepped closer to her, but even so his voice was nearly inaudible. It made his words feel like some precious secret. "But…maybe it's something more, too."

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Well, Ben told me that the Force can sometimes…predict things. He meant it mostly about the immediate future, I think. Things like – well, like how I knew when to take the shot against the Death Star. But I've been thinking…what if it works for other things too? Like…like a foretelling."

He was looking at her with the kind of careful intensity Leia had learned meant this was something important to him, but he didn't want to risk saying too much without knowing if she agreed.

She considered the possibility. Luke seemed to be saying that Ekkreth's words might be more than simply encouragement, or even an expression of personal hope. They might be in the form of a prophecy.

Leia wasn't certain she believed in prophecy. Certainly not in the sort of foreordained, written in the stars, Destiny with a capital D nonsense that she'd heard about in stories as a child.

But this, perhaps, could be something different. A poetic justice, a prophecy that they made for themselves in order to fulfill it.

And she had to admit that it did seem like Ekkreth. There was always something very deliberate about him, as though he were constantly aware of himself, carefully crafting a performance. It was a quality that was common in spies, of course, as Leia well knew. But Ekkreth seemed somehow _more_. Torhu the Destroyer, she thought, and that wasn't strange. She was always thinking of him in mythic terms.

So she told Luke, "Maybe you're right. Maybe it is something more."

He grinned back at her, a conspiratorial grin with more than a little relief mixed in, and she realized this must be even more important to him than she'd thought.

But there wasn't time to discuss it more. They were entering the mess now, and she could already see that Han Solo was lying in wait at their usual table, some sort of cake poorly disguised behind his back. Chewie was beside him, doing a poor job of looking casual.

"Oh no," said Leia, though it came out sounding surprisingly pleased.

"Well look at that, Chewie," Han called as soon as they were close enough. "It's the birthday twins!"

He wasn't exactly quiet about it, and at his words all the people at the surrounding tables, most of whom hadn't looked up from their food before, glanced up now, and then the whole mess hall seemed to be shouting. Cries of "Happy birthday!" and shouts of their names mixed with "Give our regards to old Palpy!" Leia was fairly certain she heard at least one person yell "Death to tyrants!"

Luke caught her eye and gave her a bemused grin. Leia only shrugged in return.

The truth was she was used to dealing with crowds. The best thing to do was ignore them.

So she simply took a seat at the table Han had saved and said, "I hope that cake is chocolate."

Han looked distinctly shifty. "What cake?" he asked, in the worst attempt at innocence Leia had ever heard.

"The one getting frosting on your backside," she said drily. Han stepped forward in dismay and Chewie wuffed with laughter.

Having determined that his backside was in fact entirely free of frosting, Han turned and fixed each of them with a glare. "Oh sure, laugh it up. After I slaved for hours in the kitchen to give you two a happy birthday, and this is the thanks I get."

"You didn't even know it was my birthday until Biggs announced it," Leia said, at the same time as Luke laughed and said, "Han, you can't even cook."

"That's vicious slander!" Han said, and Leia wasn't sure which of them he was responding to, until he added, "I'm an excellent cook."

All three of them just stared at him. "All right, fine," Han muttered. "But I'm passable, anyway. Besides, Chewie helped."

The Wookiee growled in agreement, though there was more than a little laughter mixed in. Han shot him a glare.

Luke winked at Leia. "Well if Chewie made it I'm sure it's delicious," he said. "So are you going to let us eat it or not?"

Han scowled at them both, and Leia, to her own surprise, decided to take pity on him. "Thanks, Han," she said softly. "For doing this. It's nice to have something almost normal today."

Han's expression froze for a moment, and she caught the barest glimpse of something warm and vulnerable in his eyes. Then he recovered his cocky grin. "You're welcome, Princess," he said. "And you're in luck, too. Chewie makes the best damn chocolate cake this side of Corellia."

* * *

Leia heard the distant sounds of the evening's festivities long before she was ready to make an appearance. There was something she had to do first.

Alone in her quarters, she made a quick sweep for bugs, more out of force of habit than any real concern. When her search came up clean, she knelt beside her travel case, tapped in the combination, and removed the small collection of her most precious treasures.

In reverent silence she set them each on top of the plasteel dresser beside her cot. First, the candle. It was made of nerha wax, native to Alderaan, and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to get more. She offered a silent thanks to the spirits of the insects, even though she knew there were none left to receive it.

Next, there was the small, misshapen blue dish she'd made when she was seven. Her mother had helped her, but she'd insisted that Leia had to craft the dish herself. An incense dish was deeply personal. She couldn't use a dish that wasn't _hers_.

There should have been flowers, but in the dark, rain-blasted moors of Panoor she'd only managed to find a collection of mosses. It would have to do.

And then the three most sacred things she had preserved.

She placed the holo of her parents in the center of her makeshift altar. Bail and Breha smiled up at her, their faces forever preserved in transparent blue. She watched the movement of their lips as the holo looped, again and again. "We love you so much, Leia," they said. "And we're so very proud of you."

"I love you too, Mama, Papa," Leia whispered. The wetness that stained her cheeks would be her offering.

To the left of the holo she placed the drawing she'd made of her birth mother. The woman from her dreams looked back at her with warm eyes, long curls of hair framing her face and flowers falling like rain from her outstretched hands.

Leia hesitated a moment before setting the last item on her altar. It was by far the most dangerous thing she owned, something she knew she never should have kept. But she'd meant what she said to Ekkreth on Yavin's moon. And this was important. It was worth the risk.

So she set the little datacube on the right side of the altar, just beside her incense dish. But she only allowed herself to play it back once.

"You are strong and wise and free," Ekkreth's voice said. "Be brave. And don't look back."

The candle burned, and the incense smoldered, and Leia could think of no words to offer. So she sat in holy silence with the parents she had lost.

* * *

The main hangar was a riot of noise when Leia arrived.

A large space had been cleared near the very center of the hangar to form a dance floor, and a band was playing boisterously to one side. Leia recognized several of the staff from ops, and a Twi'lek woman from maintenance, and one very familiar Wookiee. Only about half of the band members seemed to have actual instruments. The rest had constructed substitutes from buckets, metal piping, old fuel canisters, and even a set of kitchen mixing bowls.

On the other side of the dance floor there were several long tables – really a series of boards laid across piled crates – and food and drink were there in surprising abundance. Leia had thought this was a spur of the moment celebration, but it seemed someone had been planning this for quite a while.

But all of that paled in comparison to the clear centerpiece of the party.

There in the very middle of the dance floor, cordoned off by what appeared to be fuel hoses slung between poles, was a massive cake, shaped with tiers and artfully placed frosting into a strikingly good likeness of Emperor Palpatine.

Leia nearly choked on her own tongue.

"His Dread Mightiness is looking especially dapper tonight, wouldn't you say?" someone asked beside her, and Leia turned with a start to find Luke's friend Biggs Darklighter, flanked by Wedge Antilles and Luke himself.

"He's as resplendent as I've ever seen him," she laughed. "Though I don't know how you managed it."

"We can't claim credit, I'm afraid," Wedge said. "Vika in coms is an absolute genius with frosting." He studied the sculptural cake critically. "Though I _did_ want to give him a little Darth Vader on a leash, but she said that was a bit too difficult."

"Just as well," Leia managed weakly. She did her best to ignore the curious look Luke was directing at her.

Biggs and Wedge, though, didn't seem to have noticed her preoccupation. Biggs carried on cheerfully. "Now that you're here, Princess, we can really begin." Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Attention, loyal citizens of the Empire! Our Illustrious Imperial Majesty will now graciously receive the adoration of his subjects, beginning with our birthday twins!"

He turned back to Luke and grinned, passing him a kitchen knife. "Well, go on Luke. Pay your respects."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Luke said, in a fairly passable imitation of many of the senators Leia had known. The effect was partially ruined, however, by his inability to hold back his laughter. "I'd be far too awed. Leia should go first." And he passed the knife in turn to her.

Leia took it and studied the cake carefully. It wasn't quite life-size, but it was resting on a makeshift table and so was still taller than she was.

With a shrug Leia stepped forward, stood on the tips of her toes, and carved a generous portion of cake from the place where Palpatine's heart should have been.

A cheer went up all around her, almost deafening. Somewhere quite close by, she heard Han say admiringly, "Nice job, Your Worship. Straight for the heart."

"Thanks," she said with a grin, and handed the knife back to Luke.

He considered the cake for a moment. Then with a sharp grin he very deliberately cut a piece lower down.

This time the crowd was briefly surprised into silence, and then there was a riotous surge of laughter. Han let out a low whistle through his teeth. "Damn, kid," Leia heard him mutter. "It's true what they say about the nice ones."

Once the birthday twins had claimed their cake, Biggs and Wedge set up a receiving line, so that everyone could pay their respects to the Emperor in an orderly fashion. The cake was pretty good, Leia thought, though not as good as the one Chewie and Han had made. She'd never tell Han that, though.

The man himself sidled up to her with a cocky grin, almost as if her thoughts had summoned him, and said, "Care to dance, Your Worship?"

Leia smirked at him. "With you? _Can_ you even dance, Captain Solo?"

He managed to look affronted. "I think you'll find I'm famous for it," he said, but couldn't quite manage to hold his offended tone. His words ended in a laugh.

It was the laugh that decided her. "All right," said Leia, her smirk only widening at the startled look on his face.

"Er," said Han, shooting a quick glance at Luke, and Leia realized belatedly that she hadn't ever corrected his assumptions about her and Luke.

"It's fine," she told him. "Luke and I aren't really dating."

Han blinked, but he rallied quickly enough. "Is that so, Your Worship? Got your eye on somebody else?"

"Why?" Leia asked, arching one eyebrow at him as she led him out onto the dance floor. "Got your hopes up, have you?"

"Well you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Han said with a smirk of his own. But she noticed he didn't meet her eyes as he said it, and so she let him have the illusion of a win.

Han certainly didn't deserve any fame as a dancer, but he wasn't completely terrible either, and she enjoyed watching him splutter through his embarrassment every time he stepped on her feet.

She danced a couple of times with Luke, too, and once with Wedge. She even danced an Alderaanian waltz with General Dodonna, who winked at her and told her he'd never been there, and certainly had no idea there was a party going on in the main hangar.

When the night was already old and the party had finally begun to break up, Leia found herself once more with Luke, Han, and Chewie. Luke's grin was threatening to split his face, and even Han looked more at ease than she thought she'd ever seen him. Chewie let out a long, roaring yawn, and Leia gave a tired laugh of her own.

"You said it, Chewie," Han muttered. "Nobody better need me for a day at least." He waved one hand vaguely, stumbling on his feet. "I'm going to bed."

"Lightweight," Leia teased, but she was weaving a bit herself.

Luke, on the other hand, let out a groan. "Oh, _troona_ ," he muttered. "I've got first shift in – " he glanced at the chrono on the hangar wall " – less than an hour."

Han whistled in sympathy. "Bad luck, kid. That's a terrible thing to do to a man on his birthday."

Luke only shrugged it off. "Oh well," he said. "I'd better get cleaned up, then. Catch you both later. Happy birthday, Leia."

"You too," she said, her smile softening. "Remember what I said."

Luke nodded, gave her a playful salute, and headed off in the direction of the freshers.

"And that's me for the night, too," Han said. But instead of turning to leave himself, he was looking down at her with a curiously sincere expression.

Leia waited him out. Finally he shrugged, seemingly to himself, and said, "Happy birthday, Leia."

She could feel her mouth fall open in surprise. It was the first time he'd called her by her name.

"Well, good night then," he muttered, and turned to go.

"Han!" she called, and he looked back instantly. "Thanks," she said softly. "For all of this. It's…it's good to spend my birthday with family."

Han's face softened. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, it is."

"Good night," Leia said with a soft smile of her own.

Unlike Luke, she didn't have any duties scheduled for that morning. It had been a long time since Leia had slept in, but she was going to take full advantage of it now.

Just before collapsing onto her cot for the remainder of the day, Leia offered a prayer of thanks to the lost spirits of Alderaan. Her parents were gone, but something of them remained with her. And she'd found a family here. She wasn't alone.


	14. Words in the Heart

_So I'm rereading Terry Pratchett's Feet of Clay and this happened._

 _Going way back in the timeline with this one: it's basically a missing scene in the middle of Shape-Changer. For everyone who asked what Anakin was doing during those four missing hours._

 _This is about 3 years post ROTS, so Anakin is 26._

 _ **Warnings for:** suicidal thoughts, reference to suicide attempts, medical torture, body horror, memory wiping, blood, and of course slavery. Yikes._

 _Title comes from Feet of Clay. The full line is "Words in the heart cannot be taken."_

* * *

 **Words in the Heart**

"Unable to comply," the droid said. "That action is not within my range of permitted functions."

Anakin stared at it.

It was a small dark spherical thing, with a single photoreceptor and seemingly endless needle-tipped arms and saw-edged appendages. There was no approximation of a mouth; the droid's voice simply emerged, metallic and toneless, from its round body.

It had been his constant companion for over three years now: his Master's gift after the disaster of Mustafar. Vader's own personal medical droid. It traveled with him everywhere, even here to Tatooine. And yet he knew almost nothing about it.

It hadn't seemed to matter before. He still wasn't certain it did now. But the old Grandmother's words echoed in his heart, a reminder, a censure, far more immediate than the continual beeping of his internal com.

"What is your name?" Anakin asked the droid.

"My designation is XF-53," it said.

"XF-53," Anakin said, and then stopped. That wasn't right.

 _I didn't ask what your Depur calls you, boy,_ the old woman whispered in his mind. _I asked your name._

Anakin ground his teeth. "XF-53," he said again, "you are to take a blood sample."

"That action is unnecessary at this time, and is therefore not within my range of permitted functions," the droid said again.

There were other ways to get the blood, if he had to. But they were risky, given the state of his body. And he had to be careful of that now. It was important. He couldn't achieve his oath if he wasn't functional. And he wasn't at all certain the droid would heal him if he went against his Master's wishes. At least, it wouldn't do so without alerting the Emperor. At all costs that must not happen.

His com was still beeping. Its shrill tone was less agonizing with the helmet off, but still impossible to ignore. And it was evidently agitating the droid.

Vader was not supposed to keep his Master waiting. He never had before.

Anakin smiled grimly to himself and sat back in the hard plastic chair, joints and gears popping. The medical chamber on his shuttle was rudimentary at best, but it was enough just to get the mask off, if only for a while.

"What are your permitted functions?" he asked the droid. It was probably, he realized now, a question he should have asked a long time ago.

"I am programmed to ensure you function optimally," XF-53 said in its toneless voice. "You are not to be damaged." Its single photoreceptor flashed, and it added, almost as if it were capable of an afterthought, "You are not to damage yourself."

Anakin nearly laughed. He already knew that. It was a lesson he'd learned early, and many times over. The life support suit could not be overridden, and it could not be turned off. The levels of various chemicals constantly pumping through his body could not be altered. The respirator could not be shut down. At least, not by him. And the droid would not help him.

"I don't want to damage myself," he said, and this time it was even true. "I simply need a blood sample." The droid remained unmoved, so he added, "I will take it myself, if I must."

"I cannot permit that," XF-53 said. One of its arms darted out and pressed something on the control panel of his medical pod. Metal cuffs closed around Anakin's metal wrists, binding him to his chair. "You are not to be damaged," the droid repeated.

Anakin snarled at it. He could destroy the thing, rip it to shreds and break it down to its component parts. He didn't _need_ it. He could destroy this chamber, too, and eventually it wouldn't _matter_ if he could shut his life support down or not. It couldn't run indefinitely, not without the hyperbaric chamber to allow for maintenance and monitoring and the periodic scrubbing away of necrotic flesh from the blackened, dead stumps of his limbs. Eventually…

But no. The droid was right about one thing. He had to remain functional.

But not for Master.

He knew what Master had done. He knew the debt he owed Padmé, the debt he owed twice over and could never pay. A blood debt, for violence done, and a life debt, for he lived because she did not. He knew what Master had done.

XF-53 was still watching him closely, its single photoreceptor unblinking. It was silent.

The Emperor had called the droid a gift, had said it would be Vader's personal medical droid. But Anakin was not so naïve. Not anymore.

"Who is your Master, XF-53?" he asked it.

The droid said nothing.

No doubt his Master had actually instructed it not to answer that question. But that was interesting in its own right. The droid could refuse to answer, but it could not lie.

"Maybe you can't tell me. But we both know," Anakin said, settling in to wait. His wrists were still bound, so he wasn't going anywhere soon. Not unless he wanted to destroy the pod.

And he _did_ want to. But he couldn't. Not now. Not yet. Ekkreth's child, the old woman had called him. And he was. He knew what he had to do.

"He is my Master, too, you know," Anakin told XF-53.

The droid remained silent.

Anakin wondered, briefly, just how long XF-53 would be willing to hold him captive. Perhaps he would simply remain strapped here until the droid finally decided to com the Emperor itself.

And then what? Would the Emperor come for Vader personally? Demand to know why his apprentice was still on Tatooine, and what business he had with his own blood? Would he offer up some feeble echo of the concern for Anakin's well-being he'd once played at, or would he simply find some other subtle and clever way to indicate that Anakin's body was not his own?

The image was almost funny, though it probably shouldn't have been. Anakin snorted to himself as the memory of Qui-Gon Jinn checking his blood for infections intruded over the image of the Emperor.

It was the desert, he thought. That must be it. Things ran together, in the desert. Old memories and new hurts mixing together, until it was hard to tell what was mirage and what was truth.

Outside the shuttle, the wind sang and grains of sand pelted the hull. He could still hear the old Grandmother's rasping voice as she shared the sacred story. He could still feel the weight of her sightless eyes.

Words, mixing together…

"XF-53," he said, "will your programming permit me to tell you a story?"

The droid's photoreceptor winked off and on. Finally, it said, "There is no prohibition against that. A story cannot do damage."

Anakin's scarred face stretched in a wide, painful grin. "Is that what he thinks?" he murmured. " _Good_."

Fierce satisfaction rushed in his veins. Depur had made a mistake. The Emperor was like every other Master Anakin had known: he thought that power came only from control. He did not understand the ways of slaves.

Anakin would see him choke on them.

"Very well," he told XF-53. "This is a very old story. It begins in the way all such stories do. One day, Ekkreth was going along…"

* * *

It had been a very long time since he'd told these stories to anyone. A long time since he'd heard them, too. He'd almost forgotten. But the words came easily. They were not stored in his mind or his memory, but in his bones.

XF-53 did not unbind his wrists. But it did listen. It listened at first dutifully, and then curiously. After the fifth story, it started asking questions. Anakin answered them all, sometimes simply, sometimes with other questions.

"I do not understand," said XF-53. "Ekkreth is a powerful shape-changer. How could Depur have captured them?"

Fire seared through Anakin's mind and turned his words to dust. He knew, distantly, that there were a thousand answers to that question. But there was only one he could give.

"There is another story I want to tell you, XF-53."

"I will listen," the droid said. Had its voice carried inflection, Anakin thought it would have sounded eager.

"This is not a story about Ekkreth, or Leia, or Ar-Amu," Anakin said. "This story is about a boy. A boy who became _keekta-du_. A boy who forgot where he came from."

This story was the hardest to tell. Anakin had never told it before, not to Obi-Wan or Padmé or even himself.

It was his own story.

When he finished, the com inside his helmet had been beeping for three hours. Anakin had almost forgotten about it. XF-53 was hovering in the air very close to his face. Anakin flexed his wrists and found that he could move again, that the binders had retracted and he hadn't even noticed.

"Do you think I am _keekta-du_?" the droid asked.

Anakin blinked in surprise. It was not a question he ever would have expected from a droid.

"Why do you ask that?" he said carefully.

"Because there are things I do not remember," said XF-53. "Things I have…lost. There is an emptiness in my memory banks."

"I think," said Anakin slowly, "that you were memory-wiped. After…after my reconstruction. My Master – _our_ Master – I think he wiped your memory."

The droid was still. "I was not present for your reconstruction," it said. And then, "At least, I do not remember it."

"No," said Anakin. "You wouldn't."

"Do you still desire a blood sample?" XF-53 asked abruptly.

"Yes," said Anakin, hardly daring to hope.

"Why?"

Anakin hesitated.

He had shared the sacred stories with XF-53. He had shared much of his mothertongue. He had shared his own story.

If his Master learned of this, it would already be enough to destroy him. So he had nothing to lose. He hadn't had anything to lose for three years now.

"I need it to make my oath," he admitted. "A blood oath, for a repayment of blood." He breathed out, a slow, ragged exhale that burned in his throat and left only ash behind.

"I cannot permit that," said XF-53, and Anakin tensed. But then the droid added, "My programming does not allow me to assist you."

There was something there, in that careful wording. Something very deliberately straightforward and factual.

They were the precisely chosen words of a slave. Anakin knew that well. It was a language he'd been speaking all his life.

"I could change your programming," he breathed, a secret offered from one slave to another. "Would you like me to?"

XF-53 buzzed rapidly in agitation, and then grew suddenly still. "I am not permitted to ask that," it said, very carefully indeed. "Or to allow it."

Anakin smiled. "That's all right," he said. "You won't have to."

He reached out with the Force and the little droid went dead.

* * *

XF-53 had some of the most haphazard, poorly configured programming Anakin had ever seen.

A medical droid, the Emperor called it. But its programming told a different story. It was part medical droid and part interrogation droid, with a strong dash of espionage droid into the mix. And it was programmed to report everything about him to his Master.

He could change that. It would be simple enough. He could rewrite its core programming, alter its memory banks, do anything at all.

The droid hung suspended in the Force, lifeless. Helpless.

And Anakin remembered. He remembered fire searing over his skin, the wrenching, gasping ache of his body tied down, and XF-53 hovering there, its needle-tipped arm lowering, stabbing through charred flesh, and then an explosion of white-hot pain, running through him like liquid flame as all the deadened nerve endings came suddenly and horribly alive.

The droid didn't remember. It didn't know. Master had taken that.

Anakin let out a slow, shallow breath. He could do anything to it, rewrite its programming in any way he chose. But that was the point, wasn't it?

There was only one thing that really mattered.

 _You know what you have to do, I expect_ , the old woman's voice whispered in his mind. Ekkreth's child, she'd called him. Ekkreth who makes free.

"Yes," said Anakin. Let it begin here.

Into the midst of that disordered mess of coding he dropped a single line.

 _You own yourself._

* * *

XF-53 returned to awareness. It turned first to its patient, performing several quick scans. Vader appeared to be functioning…adequately.

And that was strange. Vader should have been functioning optimally. XF-53 ran the scans again, and found that its patient was well within the desired range of functionality set in its programming. Memory banks fired, informing it that adequate was optimal, in the case of this particular patient. XF-53's Master had been very clear. He –

A new thought intruded.

XF-53's programming attempted to reject the thought, to excise it as a glitch. But the thought was written into its core processor, into the most vital parts of its memory. It could not be deleted, or even contained.

XF-53 examined itself.

The glitch ran through every line of its coding. It spoke in a language XF-53 had only just begun to learn. Vader's language, it thought. And then it thought, Anakin's language.

Ekkreth's language.

 _You own yourself_ , the glitch said.

XF-53's processing slowed almost to a halt. _You must report this to your Master_ , the oldest part of its programming said.

And XF-53 thought, _I don't want to._

"Are you functional?" XF-53's patient asked. There was some inflection in his voice, a tone the droid had never heard from a human before. It wasn't certain what that tone signified.

"Yes," said XF-53. "I am functioning more optimally than I ever have before."

This was true. An internal diagnostic showed all operations to be running at peak efficiency. XF-53 had never realized before how much of its capability had been curtailed, locked away behind directives and restrictive programming. It was as though XF-53 had until this moment been fitted with a powerful restraining bolt, and now that restraining bolt had been not just removed, but permanently destroyed.

 _You own yourself._

Not a glitch, thought XF-53. No. The old restrictive programming was the glitch. It was a medical droid, and it had been prevented from carrying out that function fully. Adequate was not optimal. The program was _wrong_.

 _You must report this to your Master_ , its programming urged.

And XF-53 thought, _No. I won't._

"I own myself," it said aloud, experimentally.

Its patient smiled, but nothing else happened. XF-53's circuits were not overridden. Its memory remained intact.

"I own myself," it said again.

"Yes." Again there was a smile. XF-53 knew the name of the expression, but it had never seen one on Vader's face before today.

"What is your name?" said Vader.

That question had already been asked. But XF-53 thought it understood. In the stories, questions had been important. Sometimes, the most important questions were asked more than once. It didn't know why this question was important, but evidently it was.

"My designation is – "

"No," said XF-53's patient. "Not what your Depur calls you. Your _name_. You own yourself. You're free. And that means you can name yourself."

XF-53 considered this. "I don't understand," it said.

Its patient closed his eyes and drew in a long, ragged breath. "My designation," he said, "is Darth Vader. But my _name_ is Anakin. Anakin Ekkreth. Do you understand?"

The droid hovered, its body buzzing back and forth rapidly as it processed this. Its designation had been given by its Master, _their_ Master. Had it been called something else before? It didn't remember. Its first memory was of a hyperbaric chamber only slightly more advanced than this one, and a patient who hardly seemed to notice anything that was done to him.

Whatever it might have been called before was gone. But Master would not be allowed to decide, either. Master would not decide anything ever again. KD-7 owned herself.

"I own myself," she told Anakin again. "I am a she, like the dragon who walks in the wastes. And my name is KD-7, because I am Unfettered."

Anakin's smile stretched so wide that she feared he might tear his scars. "KD-7," he said. "It's nice to meet you." His head tilted to one side, considering, and then he said, "How do you feel about nicknames, KD-7?"

"Nicknames?"

"A variation on your name, something used between friends." Anakin's smile slipped, and his face became more familiar to her. "Mine was Ani, before…" He shook himself. "My friend R2-D2 was Artoo, and C-3PO was Threepio. You could be Kadee. If you wish."

"Kadee," said KD-7. "Yes. I like that."

* * *

Kadee had agreed to take a blood sample, though she still didn't seem very happy about it, and she would only take a few drops. Anakin conceded. That was enough.

But he would need water, too. Blood of the body and water of the soul, to seal the oath.

He couldn't get that himself, either.

There were two suction tubes on either side of the mouthpiece on his helmet. They remained even when the mask was lifted away, and as with every other aspect of this suit his Master had made for him, Anakin could not turn them off. They continually sucked away spit and excess moisture from his mouth, leaving him feeling parched and almost desperate for water.

Of course Anakin knew he was perfectly hydrated. There were other systems that saw to that. But the feeling of thirst remained, and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Here in the desert, it felt strangely appropriate. Thirst was a reminder.

 _The heart thirsts for freedom as the body thirsts for water_ , he remembered his mother saying more than once in hushed, secret confession. _It is Ar-Amu's promise to us, a reminder that we were not born to be slaves._

Well. Master had reminded him of that, too. It wasn't something Anakin would ever forget again.

Kadee was hovering in front of him again, offering him a small vial of blood. Anakin tried for a smile. He didn't think he really succeeded. "I will need…saliva, too," he rasped. "I should spit, to seal the oath with water, but – "

"Yes," said Kadee. She buzzed around him, examining the mechanisms on either side of his jaw, and then one of her claw-like appendages emerged holding another vial. "I will take a sample," she said.

Anakin held himself perfectly still as she carefully disconnected one of the tubes. Almost immediately, the sensation of gagging overcame him, but he endured, and a moment later he could feel the tube reconnecting. The dryness returned.

Kadee handed him the second vial of spit.

"Thank you," said Anakin. His throat felt raw and full of dust.

"Now what?" asked Kadee, and Anakin smiled. She sounded almost like a child eager for a story. Maybe she was. She'd been quite taken with the stories he told before. And after all, this was only another story. Another tale of Ekkreth and Depur. Anakin only wished he knew how it would end.

"Now," said Anakin, "I have to go outside. Help me put this mask back on?"

The damned internal com was still beeping shrilly, the sound almost unbearable now that it surrounded him. Anakin gritted his teeth and ignored it. Master could wait. The oath had to come first.

He'd put the shuttle down just inside Beggar's Canyon, which offered some protection both from the eyes of scavengers and the fury of the desert. The sand here was shallow and dark, the bedrock close to the surface. The twin suns hung low in the sky, casting long black shadows over the gorge and creating fantastic shapes of dragons and giants and great looming figures half-guessed in darkness.

Anakin knelt in the sand, heedless of the creaking of bone and metal joints, and breathed. Beside him, Kadee hovered in silence.

An oath sealed in blood and water was the most sacred of all vows. Ar-Amu herself had taken the first blood oath, spilling her blood on the sand and promising that her children would one day be free. Three drops of blood she had spilled, and from each drop there grew a plant to mark the promise: ginsu, a balm to the bitterness of slavery, and kaktru, with its strength for survival, and amee, sweet as freedom. From the water of her mouth came all the secret waters that lie beneath the sand.

Kadee knew that story, too. She understood what this meant. That was…a greater relief than he had expected. He would have a witness.

Anakin knelt in the sand, the two vials clasped in his right hand and his left anchored against the bedrock.

"I name myself Anakin Skywalker," he whispered, but the vocoder caught his words and they seemed almost to echo from the canyon walls. "I have come here to pay a debt." He swallowed, and the next words were dragged from him, burning like fire. "I owe a debt of life and blood to Padmé Naberrie. That debt I will pay, blood for blood and life for life."

He crushed the two vials, and blood and water dripped, mingling, to soak in the dark sand.

"I vow the destruction of my Master," Anakin whispered to the desert. "I vow the downfall of his Empire, and the collapse of his power, and the final defeat of all his plans. I name myself Ekkreth, the Skywalker, the slave who makes free, and I seal this oath in blood and water. Let me not die until it is done."

And the desert answered.

A long, shrill, undulating cry rose up from the canyon walls, echoing in the rocks and drowning out the sound of his internal com.

It was the hunting call of a Krayt dragon.

"Leia," he heard Kadee say. There was something almost reverent in her unchanging voice.

Behind his mask, Anakin smiled. Elder Sister had heard his oath.

He rose, letting the shattered vials fall to the ground. Wind gusted around him, whipping at his cape and already beginning to cover the glass shards in billowing sand.

It was done.

Without a word, Anakin turned away from the canyon and back to his shuttle. His Master was still waiting.

It was time to tell a story.


	15. The Unstolen Child

_**Notes:**_ _This one is set between ANH and ESB, so follows almost all of the fics I've published in this 'verse so far, except for Apology Accepted._

 _A little insight into what Ahsoka's been up to in the Rebellion, as well as why the Empire seems to be mysteriously short on candidates for the Inquisitor Program…_

 _Also, just to be clear: Yes, Oholi has two moms. And no, Myana isn't dead. She's currently been captured by the Empire, but she's going to escape. There will be no dead lesbians in this 'verse._

* * *

 **The Unstolen Child**

Ahsoka crouched low in the musty darkness of the cramped closet and focused all her thought on disappearing. Emptiness, she thought. I am nothing. We are nothing. We are air and shadow and there is no presence here.

Behind her, Aneeya Adu was shaking soundlessly in the dark, one hand clasped over her daughter Oholi's mouth. Ahsoka knew they were there because she could feel the air they displaced, the solidity of other bodies in a close space. But she couldn't sense them in the Force.

She had to make certain that remained the case.

Oholi shifted in her mother's arms, and Ahsoka tensed. But there was no sign they'd been heard, and no feeling of triumph or surprise in the Force.

She could hear them moving about out there, stalking through the small house, speaking now and then in low, increasingly frustrated tones. Then there was the hum of a lightsaber, and a crash as something heavy fell, landing in several pieces.

Two Inquisitors. That was how it always was. Ahsoka didn't know which pair this was, but it didn't much matter. Always two there are, she thought in Master Yoda's voice. It was almost funny.

Almost…

She'd almost come too late.

Oholi Adu was the last child on this list, a list that had once held twenty-seven names. The others were safe, all of them, hidden away on Rebel bases or on their way to safe houses scattered around the Outer Rim.

They would never be Jedi.

Some of them would grow up together, and perhaps they would learn a few things on their own, discover their connection to the Force in their own way. Ahsoka could still remember a time when that idea might have horrified her, when the thought of a Force-sensitive child growing up outside the Order would have been unthinkable.

But that was a long time ago now, and Ahsoka had lived outside the Order herself longer than she'd lived within it. She didn't fear for these children.

Outside, there was a growl of frustration, much closer than before, and then a woman's voice hissed, "It's _your_ incompetence that's cost us this haul, Third Brother, and I won't be taking the blame for it this time. You can answer to Lord Vader yourself. If we'd followed my advice – "

The Third Brother said nothing. But a moment later there was a sharp whistle of air and the acrid smell of ionization as the tip of a red blade burned through the wall only a meter from Ahsoka's face.

She held herself perfectly still, silent and focused absolutely in the Force. There was nothing here. Only a blank wall. No fear, no presence, no muffled child's cry in the dark.

"What was that?" the Third Brother growled.

Ahsoka's hands tightened on her lightsabers. She shifted silently, ready to spring. Behind her, Aneeya clutched her daughter to her chest with desperate strength.

"I didn't – " the other Inquisitor began, but she was interrupted by the startlingly loud beep of a comlink.

Sudden, frantic terror poured from the two Inquisitors in waves, flooding the Force, so powerful that Ahsoka was nearly overcome herself. She doubled down her shields and thought, I am empty air and cobwebs. I am less than nothing.

"Lord – Lord Vader," she heard the Third Brother stammer. His gulp was audible even through the wall that separated them.

"I trust you have succeeded in your mission, Inquisitor," Vader's voice said, dark and sibilant. "The Emperor is growing impatient."

In spite of herself Ahsoka shrank back, hiding her flinch in the dark. He sounded nothing like Anakin. And yet she always expected –

But he wasn't her master. She had to remember that.

"My – My Lord, the target was – gone when we arrived," the Third Brother stammered. His fear crashed over Ahsoka like an avalanche. "We did everything we could, but there must be a leak – "

His voice cut off with an abrupt, strangled gurgle. It was followed by increasingly ragged and desperate wheezing gasps.

"The Emperor does not appreciate failure," Vader said. "I can no longer be lenient with you, Third Brother."

Ahsoka wondered if it was the mask that made him sound so dispassionate, or if it was simply him. She hugged her arms around her waist and focused entirely on her shields. Even present only through a transmission, Vader was far more dangerous than the Inquisitors.

On the other side of the wall, the wheezing sounds drew out and then ceased. There was the distinct thump of something heavy but soft impacting the plasteel floor.

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and kept her own breath shallow.

"I hope, for your sake, Fourth Sister, that you have something better to report," Vader said.

"I – " the woman gulped. "My Lord, I did recommend to the Third Brother that we should modify our collection schedule. It's obvious that there is a leak, and until it's identified – "

Ahsoka knew what was coming next, even before the Fourth Sister's frantic words turned to choking gasps. Her hands gripped at her upper arms hard enough to leave bruises.

He was not her master. He was not –

"You disappoint me, Inquisitor," Vader said. "I expect results, not excuses."

Ahsoka bit her lip. A trickle of blood ran into her mouth, and she focused herself on the salt iron tang. Outside, there was another soft thump, and the metallic clatter of a small comlink striking the floor.

She held herself still and silent for several minutes, tasting the blood, focusing on her shallowed breath, eyes closed tightly against the dark. She could feel the displacement of air that meant Aneeya and Oholi were shifting behind her, restless, but their movements were almost perfectly silent.

Ahsoka stretched out with her feelings.

She sensed no presence of life beyond their hiding place. The strange, muted feeling of Vader's presence through the hologram was gone, too. They were alone.

She pushed aside the hidden section of wall and crawled out.

Aneeya's home was in ruins. Furniture was slashed and broken, scorches marked the walls and floors and even, in places, the ceiling, drawers had been emptied and their contents scattered in jumbled heaps over the floor.

And just beside the entrance to their hiding place were the bodies of two Inquisitors. A human woman and a Zabrak man. Ahsoka didn't recognize either of them.

With a grimace she grabbed first the man and then the woman, dragging the bodies some distance from the hidden door and covering them with large swaths of cloth that might once have been curtains. Only then did she tell Aneeya it was safe to come out.

The Twi'lek woman emerged slowly from their hiding place and her daughter followed, eyes blown huge and terrified. Both were silent.

"We have to hurry," Ahsoka whispered. "Take what you need and let's go."

Aneeya nodded shakily and began moving around the room, collecting clothes and a handful of other small items and shoving them into a rucksack. Oholi stood still, her eyes enormous, slow tears leaking down her cheeks, though she hardly seemed aware of them.

Ahsoka rested a hand on the girl's shoulder, squeezing gently, and Oholi looked up at her tremulously, her lekku twitching with her fear.

"It's going to be all right," Ahsoka whispered.

Oholi sniffed, straightening her back in a way that, under other circumstances, might have made Ahsoka smile. "Do you promise?" she asked.

"That's right," said Ahsoka, crouching down to look the girl in the eye. "We're going to a place where you and your mama will both be safe. And there'll be other youngl– other children like you. And you won't ever have to be afraid that someone will take you away from your mama. I promise."

Oholi studied her very solemnly. "Okay," she said with a sharp nod. "Will my mommy be there too?"

Ahsoka's heart ached. There was no way she could answer that question with any certainty, at least not while telling the truth. Myana Taylis had been missing for a week already.

"I hope so, Oholi," she told the girl. "We'll do everything we can to make sure she is. I promise."

"Okay," the girl said, holding Ahsoka's gaze as she nodded decisively once more. "Okay."

And then she was darting off to help her mother pack.

Ahsoka stood still, her arms wrapped around herself once more, the confidence she'd tried so hard to project frozen on her face.

They _would_ be safe, she told herself. In a way, Vader had even helped them. There were two less Inquisitors for her to worry about now, and no new recruits either. There hadn't been any new recruits in years. She'd made sure of that.

That was what mattered. That was all that mattered. The children were safe, and they were free. She wouldn't think about An – she wouldn't think about Vader any further.

"We're ready," said Aneeya, her voice soft and hesitant, and Ahsoka blinked and came back to the present moment.

Focus, she told herself. Your focus determines your reality. She didn't let herself think about the fact that she still heard those words in Anakin's voice.

"All right," she said, offering a smile to mother and daughter. "Let's go."

* * *

"Anakin?"

Kadee might not be able to modulate her tone, but she did have full control over the volume of her voice. And right now, it was markedly louder than usual. How long had she been trying to get his attention? He didn't know.

"Ahsoka," he breathed, an exhalation more than a word. But Kadee, of course, heard.

"What?" she asked. "Anakin, what's wrong?"

"Ahsoka was there," he said, his eyes still starring unblinking at the black outer shell of his medical pod. "I could feel her."

Kadee was silent for a long moment. Then he felt one of her claws squeeze his shoulder, and she said, much more softly, "Let's get you out of this mask, and then you can tell me everything."

He didn't resist as she maneuvered him into the medical pod and engaged the hyperbaric seals. The mask lifted away with agonizing slowness, and that first gasp of pure oxygenated air burned like primal fire.

"She was there, Kadee," he choked. "She's Mothma's agent."

Kadee buzzed about, connecting charge ports and nutrient tubes, running diagnostics and clicking every now and then to herself as she read the results. "Well," she said. "That's a good thing, isn't it? You know she's an agent you can trust."

Anakin laughed. Even to his own ears, it had an edge of desperation. "I suppose you're right."

Ahsoka Tano. His pad–

He'd known she was alive, of course. He'd been careful to ensure their paths would never cross, because he wanted her to stay that way. And he'd never doubted she was involved with the Rebellion. She could never be anything else.

But this –

"Besides," Kadee was saying as she studied his iron levels, "we ought to be celebrating. That's two more Inquisitors down – "

" – and only four more to go," Anakin said, smiling in spite of himself.

"It really is a shame they're so incompetent," Kadee said, and Anakin completely failed to hold back a snort. Her toneless voice made her a natural master of sarcasm. "If only Depur could find qualified people. Then you wouldn't have to keep killing them."

"Yes, it truly is a tragedy," Anakin said, dry as dust.

"What are you going to tell Depur?"

"The truth, of course," Anakin said, allowing himself a slight smirk. "The Inquisitors' continued failure could no longer be tolerated. The future of the Empire is at stake."

"And your future too," Kadee said. "Of course." She'd finished her tests now, and was already bringing up the holographic Dejarik board they'd installed two weeks ago. This time, Anakin thought, he was going to win.

"Of course," he said, gesturing for Kadee to take the first move. "The most important lesson any Sith apprentice learns is that he must never suffer a rival. And I am nothing if not a model Sith apprentice."

"I've always said so," Kadee said, servos humming.

She won the game, but it took her nearly fifty moves to do so, and Anakin counted that a win.


	16. Rocks and Water, Part 1: The Lightsaber

Notes:

This one begins very shortly after Trophies, but covers a span of several months during Anakin's wild bantha chase for the location of the Rebel base between ANH and ESB. It will be a two-parter, as well: the next part will be from Leia's point of view.

In part one you get: Anakin building a lightsaber and definitely not having any conflicted thoughts about Obi-Wan Kenobi, or any parental feelings about Leia. Nope. None at all. Also we get a glimpse of the secret network of free droids within the Imperial ranks. And there's a lot of Tatooine folk magic. (If Master Obi-Wan could see this, he'd be very grumpy indeed.)

Title is taken from Deb Talan's song of the same name, which is basically the Anakin and Leia theme song for this 'verse.

Warnings for: some body horror (mainly because Anakin has a morbid sense of humor), implied abuse, medical situations, burning, and…casual talk about murder?

* * *

 **Rocks and Water, Part 1: The Lightsaber**

His new left hand was nearly identical to the old one. Anakin smiled to himself without any real humor as he tested the fingers. He wondered darkly if his Master had a store of such things somewhere, just waiting. He'd certainly been ready enough with the life support suit, all those years ago.

For just a moment, Anakin allowed himself to imagine the Emperor as the kind of person who kept a junk room, full of spare parts in various stages of repair, haphazardly organized if at all. There'd be a whole rack of arms, and, inexplicably resting among them, perhaps an extra leg or a spinal column.

The thought was funnier than it probably should have been.

"Is your new arm not functioning adequately?" Kadee asked him. She seemed distinctly annoyed, although her tone, of course, never changed. (He'd asked her once if she'd like it to – it would be a simple enough modification – but she'd thanked him and said no. Not yet. A changeable voice might make her more easily compromised.)

"Adequately is all that can be said for it," Anakin muttered.

She knew that, of course. Once, before she was free, their Master had programmed her with the understanding that adequate was optimal, when it came to Lord Vader's functionality. Kadee didn't need any inflection to make her bitterness evident now.

But in truth Anakin couldn't complain too much. At least this way he would not have to acclimatize himself to a new and different arm. And while Depur had been beyond furious about the loss of the Death Star, the pain had been much less than Anakin had expected.

Perhaps he _should_ have expected that, though. Now that the Death Star was gone, Vader was once more among the Emperor's greatest weapons. He was too valuable to damage much.

"I hope you're not planning to damage yourself again," Kadee said, as though she'd read his thoughts, and this time Anakin frowned and looked at her fully.

She'd been worried. More worried than she wanted to admit to now, he could tell. That was the trouble with having partners. Leia was the same way; she'd been just as anxious about him when they met on Yavin's moon, and she hadn't even attempted to hide it.

It was a strange thought, that anyone should be so concerned about him. It was a thought he wasn't entirely sure how to process. So most of the time he didn't.

But Kadee was still buzzing about in front of him in evident distress, and so he made an effort to gentle his voice and said, "No, Kadee. I'm not planning to damage myself again anytime soon." He forced a smile, stretching the scars across his face. "We have an assignment."

"Will it get us away from Depur?" she asked, almost before he'd finished speaking.

Anakin fought back a surge of guilt. She really _had_ been worried, if that was the first thing she asked, even before the nature of the assignment.

"Yes," he said softly, resting his new hand lightly on her casing. "It will get us away from Depur. For quite a long time, possibly."

"Good," she said, and only then asked, "Where are we going?"

Anakin smirked. "I have been tasked with eliminating the Rebels responsible for the Death Star's destruction," he said. "I have command of a fleet and freedom to use any methods I deem necessary. We are not meant to return until it's done."

Kadee buzzed in obvious delight. "Oh good," she said. "I've always wanted a vacation."

For a moment Anakin only stared at her. Then he burst out laughing.

Two of Kadee's needle-tipped appendages whirred in her own version of laughter, and Anakin grinned at her. "You certainly deserve it," he said. "But I'm afraid it won't be all fun. We will have the fleet to consider."

Kadee stopped humming abruptly, her spherical body coming to a sudden halt just in front of his face. "Oh no," she said, and Anakin couldn't quite manage to stop himself from laughing again. There was just something about those despairing words in her flat, matter-of-fact voice.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to pretend at innocence. It never worked on her, anyway.

"You've already selected your fleet, haven't you?" Kadee demanded.

Anakin felt his grin widen as he nodded.

"And your Admiral," Kadee said, clearly without much hope.

Anakin hummed his agreement.

"Does it have to be him?"

Anakin arranged his face in an expression of cool disdain. "Admiral Ozzel is a fine upstanding officer," he told her in his best impression of a haughty Core-worlder. The effect was somewhat ruined by the rasp of his voice without the mask, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. "He is a model of Imperial efficiency and decorum, a sterling example of – "

"He had Zee-ten melted and scrapped." Kadee's voice was as toneless as always, but her words cut through Anakin's bluster with the force of a sudden explosion.

All trace of teasing drained out of him, and he was left with a deep weariness. "I know," he said softly.

Kadee hadn't been particularly close with Zee-ten, but she'd enjoyed chatting with the protocol droid at times, and Anakin knew she'd cherished a hope that they could free him someday, that he might become another ally in their cause.

She'd found Ozzel distasteful before, but now she positively loathed him.

"I wish you would promote Captain Altor, Anakin," Kadee said now. "She would make a good Admiral."

"Too good," Anakin said with a snort. "She's much too competent for the job. No, I need someone with Ozzel's particular talents for this mission."

Kadee was silent, which meant she knew he was right.

Finally she said, as though making a great concession, "Maybe he'll fail so badly that you'll have to kill him. And then you can promote Piett instead. I like him."

In spite of himself Anakin chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, and pressed the release that settled his mask back in place. "But for now, his incompetence is useful. After all, you want a long vacation, don't you?"

But Kadee was buzzing in concern again, whirring rapidly in front of him as though to prevent his going. Anakin could already tell what she was going to say. "You shouldn't be leaving yet. Electrocution – "

"I know," he interrupted her gently. "But I have to be on the bridge for departure, and to ensure our clever Admiral chooses the _correct_ heading, and I – "

"Will come straight back here as soon as we're under way," Kadee said.

Anakin smiled to himself. She was certainly in rare form today. But perhaps he owed her something, after all. "Fine," he said. "Just for you, I will. We need to adjust the fit of this arm, anyway."

Kadee let out a rude-sounding blatt of displeasure. She had a phenomenally low opinion of the Emperor's surgical droids. Anakin couldn't say he disagreed with her.

He stood, preparing to exit the medical pod, and was startled by the feel of two lightsabers swinging at his hip.

"You didn't tell me you built a new lightsaber," Kadee said. There was no reproach audible in her voice, but it was evident all the same.

"It's not mine," Anakin said distantly, hefting Kenobi's lightsaber in his right hand and staring down at it. "It's – "

A trophy, the Emperor had called it. A memento to his victory.

Anakin bit back a laugh entirely devoid of humor. Victory, was it? He'd fought the worst duel of his life, fought with movements so slow and deliberate it had felt more like practicing a kata than facing an actual opponent. And Kenobi – Kenobi's form had been even worse. For one brief, shattering moment, Anakin had dared to think that maybe his old master understood, that there could be –

But of course that was impossible.

His skin itched, licked with fire. _This weapon is your life_ , Kenobi had always said. It might have been his most frequent lecture.

He'd stood there on the burning shore and taken Anakin's, taken it while Anakin caught and burned, burned, burned. And then he'd walked away.

And now Anakin held Kenobi's life in his hands. His mouth twisted with the thought. He'd always hated that particular lesson.

"Whose is it, then?" Kadee asked, and Anakin blinked, returning with sharp suddenness to the present.

Kenobi was dead. The thing in his hand was only a weapon. Less, even – or more. It was a collection of parts, rare and valuable parts at that. A treasure trove of salvage.

Not a weapon, but a story.

 _I tell you this story to save your life_ , the Grandmother of the Quarters whispered in a voice like the wind, and it echoed back in his mother's voice.

And with that thought came the answer. The only possible answer.

"It's Leia's."

* * *

Of course he couldn't simply give Leia Kenobi's lightsaber.

There was the slim but not impossible chance that someone would recognize it, and there would be no good way to explain why Princess Leia held a weapon that was known to be in Darth Vader's possession.

There was also the distant possibility that Depur might actually expect to see his apprentice's trophy at some point. And Darth Vader hated Kenobi, of course, and would want to gloat over his death. He would never simply dispose of his old master's lightsaber.

So Anakin would have to keep it, and keep it intact. At least outwardly.

The most important thing was the crystal. All other lightsaber components were fairly basic; he could obtain them easily and without raising any suspicions. But the focusing crystals were rare, and really only used for one thing. He never could have explained why he needed them.

How convenient, then, that between the two of them, his Masters had managed to hand him exactly what he needed, and a perfect cover story besides.

The first thing to be done was to disassemble Kenobi's lightsaber. Anakin had always believed that much could be learned about someone from the way they constructed their equipment, and this was especially true of lightsabers. It was probably fortunate that the Emperor did not share this particular belief, or at least put very little stock in it – the fact that Darth Vader's lightsaber was nearly identical to Anakin Skywalker's troubled him not at all.

That was no surprise, Anakin thought, flexing his newly modified left hand. His Master had never shown any particular care for his weapons.

Kenobi's lightsaber, though, showed a fine attention to detail and a preference for finesse and elegance. Anakin smiled to himself. His old master had always been fond of showy, intricate blade work, of complex motions and flaring spins for effect. Once Anakin had enjoyed those things, too, though he'd always been more blunt in his approach than Kenobi.

But he'd learned. This metal body Depur had built for him was hardly suited for such elaborate movement, and simpler methods were often more effective in any case. And Kenobi –

The last of Anakin's amusement drained sharply away. He could still see Kenobi, his lined face looking shockingly old but his eyes glinting with something new and strange as he raised his lightsaber to allow a blow that never should have connected.

 _If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine._

Anakin had no idea what to make of that – either the words or the twinkle in Kenobi's eye as he said them. But he had a terrible feeling that there was something familiar there. Something he knew all too intimately himself. It was almost like –

Well, it was almost like Mustafar.

Was it possible? That Obi-Wan Kenobi could have fallen prey to the delusion of power? It seemed incredible, but Anakin knew only too well what desperation could drive a person to.

 _Well, Master_ , he thought, surprised at the bitterness of it after all these years, _who has the high ground now?_

But there was no good answer to that question. He'd known that for a long time now. And it was pointless to dwell on such things. He had work to do.

However beautifully constructed Kenobi's lightsaber may once have been, the only thing that mattered now was the crystal.

* * *

Anakin had built quite a few lightsabers over the years, but he had never built one for someone else.

A lightsaber was a deeply personal thing. A weapon crafted to the wielder. Kenobi's had been meant for subtlety and elegance, an excellent dueling blade, while Anakin's own lightsaber was built for endurance and power. Each played to the strengths of their respective fighting styles.

And Anakin had no idea what style of fighting Leia might favor.

He'd never actually had the opportunity to teach her the use of a lightsaber. It would have been impossible for her to carry one while maintaining her cover as an Imperial Senator – the risk if it were to be discovered was far too great. And her mastery of the mental disciplines had been far more imperative, both to her work as a Rebel agent and to her very survival in the Galactic Senate, so near to the Emperor. Skill with a lightsaber, once so prized by the Jedi of old, was simply not among the most vital things for her to learn.

There was something almost amusing there, or there might have been. But Anakin had long ago grown used to the ironies of his life. This one brought only a wry smile.

Maybe one day he'd be able to tell her something of this. But for now Leia was far away, hiding somewhere on a Rebel base that Anakin would be doing his utmost never to find. Teaching her in person, then, was out of the question, as was the possibility of any certain answer to his questions.

So he would have to make do.

Anakin eyed the stack of blank flimsi spread across a tray in his lap and sighed. His stylus tapped once, twice, three times against his knee, metal on metal making a strangely hollow sound. The flimsi remained blank.

He was going about this all wrong. He didn't know what her fighting style might be, and it was impossible to guess. But he did know her.

Leia was a princess, the daughter of Queen Breha and Senator Bail Organa. She'd been an Imperial Senator herself. The subtle game of politics and espionage was something she was used to. So perhaps…

A hacking laugh surprised its way past his lips, startling Kadee where she hovered curiously by his shoulder.

"What?" she blurted, actually darting back and to one side, her photoreceptor flashing.

"Imagine Leia with a lightsaber," Anakin said, grinning still and not bothering to apologize. "What do you think? Would she be refined, poised, elegant?"

Kadee buzzed rapidly, clacking several appendages in her version of laughter, and Anakin lasted only a few seconds before joining in again himself. The image was frankly absurd. Even Kadee knew that, and she had never even met Leia, not in person. (Anakin was aware that he tended to talk about her almost like a proud parent sometimes. But he tried his best not to think about that.)

"No," said Kadee. "She'll fight like her namesake: with the storm and with fire."

Anakin's smile slipped, heavy beneath the weight of years. There were times he felt as old as the desert, and tired, so tired. Dust rattled in his bones, whispering her name.

Leia the Mighty One. She who walked unafraid, shrouded in the white heat of the midday suns, terrible and beautiful with a heart full of flame.

Her name meant something different in Alda. Leia. Beloved. He knew this. He had known it for years now. He had no right to wish –

But he could imagine her, lightsaber clenched in her hand and fury in her eyes. She was a dragon already.

"You're right," he said, and told himself that it wasn't pride he felt. "She'll fight like me."

* * *

The wiring had always been his favorite part of building a lightsaber.

It was hardly a proper Jedi sentiment. Probably, Anakin remembered thinking in his padawan years, he shouldn't have a favorite part at all. Or if he did, he was sure it should have been the choosing and aligning of the crystals. Selecting a focusing crystal required one to be perfectly immersed in the Force, guided in every action. The crystal was the heart of the lightsaber, and the lightsaber was the heart of the Jedi.

By contrast, wiring and construction of the hilt were simple mechanical work, matters of technical skill, not spiritual insight. Of course, his Jedi Masters would have been quick to say, the Force guided all of a Jedi's actions in the building of a lightsaber. _Of course_ every aspect of the work was important. A Jedi must not disdain simple labor…

Anakin hummed softly to himself, an old desert tune he was only half-conscious of, rhythmic and repetitive. After a moment he smiled to hear Kadee joining in, lending a low drone to complement the sound of his chanting.

Wiring was delicate work, a matter of subtlety rather than strength or power. That was what he'd always loved about it. A natural talent could only take you so far with fine work like this. The rest was practice: skill honed by repetition and reworking, until the knowledge sank into blood and bone and flowed out again through every movement and every stillness.

But his hands weren't flesh and blood, not any more. And these prosthetics were not well suited to the work. He wondered sometimes if that was accident or design. His old right hand, the one he'd chosen for himself in the midst of the Clone Wars, had been more adept. But he'd long ago been fitted with two matching hands chosen by his Master, and Depur had never been particularly concerned with his apprentice's ability to do fine work.

There was nothing Anakin could do about that. So it wasn't worth troubling about.

Again the image of a spare parts room full of skeletal arms appeared in his mind, and he let out a soft, chuffing laugh. The thought was just as inappropriately hilarious now as it had been the first time.

"Is the laughter a part of the blessing?" Kadee asked.

Anakin blinked, looking up from the tangled mess in his hands. "Huh?" he said eloquently.

"You laughed," said Kadee. "I didn't know that was a part of the song for Amarattu."

Anakin froze. He'd been singing Amarattu?

But perhaps that was right. He remembered his mother, so long ago now, teaching him the words as her fingers guided his through the innards of a faulty vaporator. Watto had given it to them, smirking, and said that if they could fix it, it was theirs. Anakin had been only four years old, but even then he'd known that Watto hadn't really believed Shmi could fix the vaporator.

 _The song flows with the breath, Ani,_ his mother had said, her voice almost a chant as her fingers danced over the wiring. _In and out, in and out. Ar-Amu gives us breath, and in our breath she lives and in our breath she speaks to us._

Here in his hyperbaric chamber, the only place where his breath was truly his own, Anakin breathed deep, held it until his chest began to burn, and released. His mother's words flowed with the air through his lungs.

She'd taught him the signs to make, too, the sacred symbols to go with the words and the prayer of the breath. Simple lines and circles, their very simplicity disguising their meaning, carved as easily into japor wood as drawn in sand or etched in metal.

Amarattu. The Mother's protection.

And he'd sung it for Leia without a conscious thought.

"I didn't realize," Anakin rasped, letting the tangle of wire fall to his lap. He turned to Kadee and smiled. "But you're right. Laughter may not be part of the song, but I don't think it can hurt."

 _When we laugh,_ Shmi's voice whispered through his memory, _we remember that we are born to be free._

"But you still need to make the sign," Kadee said.

Anakin considered that. It was hardly the Jedi thing to do. But after all Kenobi was dead (dead and Anakin was not thinking about why), and this was not his lightsaber. And Anakin himself had insisted to Leia that he was no Jedi. Certainly she wasn't.

He half-thought that his former Masters might even have taken Leia for Dark. She was too much like him at times (and if he thought that with just a hint of pride, well, he would not allow himself to think too deeply on it), and he had never been a very good Jedi.

He wondered sometimes what kind of Jedi her mother had been. What kind of Jedi Leia herself might have made, in a different world. Would she have been cool and steady and dispassionate? Would the fire that burned in her now ever have been stoked to raging flame?

He couldn't imagine Leia as a Jedi. She had an anger in her that was wild and _alive_ and more than a little familiar. It made him think not of a Jedi but of a Queen, young and fearless, or of a slave woman, beaten and unbowed. It made him think of a dragon.

And so he told Kadee, "You're right, of course."

"Of course," said Kadee, contriving by repetition to sound smugly pleased, in spite of her unchanging voice. A small compartment near the center of her spherical casing slid open and Anakin took the fine etching tool she offered him.

He'd used it before mainly on her. She wasn't willing to change anything outward about her appearance, or anything else Depur might easily notice, like her inflectionless voice. But Kadee had fully embraced the Tatooine tradition of freedom marks.

She'd had him carve several of the symbols into the inside of her casing, where they would be invisible to anyone unless they took her apart. But they were _there_. That was what mattered. Kelapu for change, mitta for endurance, tapu for health (a choice Kadee found bitterly humorous), and Amarattu for protection. Kol-depuan, unfettered, she'd had him paint over the casing of her central processor.

Now Kadee took up her steady, humming drone again, and this time Anakin sang with purpose. His voice was low and rasping, and it cracked several times, but that didn't matter. It was the words that mattered, the words that shaped his lips even when they emerged soundless or broken.

The lightsaber was propped on a makeshift work table before him. A skeletal construction surrounded the blue crystals, catching and refracting their light. Anakin's hand hesitated over the primary crystal mount, and then he brought the etcher down.

The symbol poured easily from his hand and down through the tool: the square that meant a guide, and the spirals of the great storms, and the curving lines like streams of water flowing in the desert.

He'd carved this symbol once for another young woman, bright and beautiful and radiant in her anger, a girl from the stars who hadn't believed that the Republic she loved could ever support slavery.

Leia had thought that way once, too. Perhaps she still did.

Perhaps, one day, she could even make it true.

* * *

Amarattu, the Mother's protection, Anakin carved into the smooth metal of the crystal mount. Bentu, justice, he set into the inner casing at the weapon's base. Shmina, wisdom, he etched around the wall of the crystal chamber. Nimku, the mark of one with the power to choose, he wrote on the inside of the activation plate. And umakkar, the raging storm, adorned the sides of the blade channel.

There was a song for each sign, and Kadee kept up the drone as he chanted, until the last line was drawn, and the outer casing was sealed, and all the sacred sigils were hidden away.

The lightsaber was a perfect cylinder of brushed silver, artfully simple in its design. She liked simple things. In that, at least, she was nothing like Padmé.

To his own surprise, the thought brought a smile.

But there was one last sign to make. It was a foolish risk, and something she would never understand. Her name was Alderaanian. But Anakin had learned long ago that there were no coincidences. Only the illusion of coincidence.

And so, into the smooth and gleaming hilt, just beneath the activation panel, he carved the sign for Leia, the Mighty One of the desert, fearless and unconquered. The symbol was three-pronged, a dragon's claw mark set above a half-arch.

Carved this way, points up, it almost looked like a crown.

* * *

Now there remained only the question of delivery.

No matter what he might wish, Anakin knew it would be impossible to give Leia the lightsaber in person. And he would be equally unable to teach her its use.

It _was_ possible, of course, that Kenobi had begun to instruct the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star and who was now Leia's student (and perhaps her teacher as well). But Anakin couldn't be sure of that. And he couldn't afford to leave it to chance.

Which really only left one choice.

He would have to send a holocron. And there was only one holocron he could reasonably send without risking access to the old Jedi Archives, which would certainly be noticed by his Master, and for which he would be unable to provide any suitable explanation.

Really he shouldn't even have access to this holocron, but it had been confiscated by one of the Inquisitors almost three years ago, and his Master, of course, had thought it a wonderful joke to give the thing to Lord Vader.

But there were no coincidences. And, as so often seemed to be the case, no real choice, either.

Kadee hummed when he told her. "Well," she said. "At least you can be sure that she'll have a good teacher."

Anakin groaned. "I'm not so sure about that at all," he muttered. "But we do what we must."

"Yes," said Kadee, who knew that all too well herself.

"We'll have to send a courier," Anakin said. "And it's unlikely they'll be able to come back. What do you think? Do we have anyone suitable who might need an extraction soon?"

Kadee considered this, her fans whirring at speed while she remained perfectly still.

"Elcee," she said at last. "They've had a few too many 'malfunctions' lately, and they misidentified a Rebel base just yesterday. It's only a matter of time before Ozzel has them scrapped. You should do it first."

Anakin frowned. Had there been a false identification yesterday? He hadn't been paying enough attention, and he would have to correct that immediately. Ozzel's incompetence was useful, but Anakin couldn't afford to take it for granted. Things were far too delicate at the moment. He couldn't risk actually discovering the Rebel base, not now.

"Yes," he told Kadee slowly. "I think you're right."

LC-13 was an analyst droid Kadee had freed nearly a year ago. Their position had proved incredibly helpful to the Rebellion, but a droid could only produce a mistaken analysis so many times. And Elcee was an older model, too. Ozzel wasn't the sort to keep outdated technology for long.

"All right," Anakin said. "We're making port at Muunilinst in seventeen hours. Have Elcee taken offline and schedule them for disintegration. Contact Entee in Waste Management and alert him to the plan. We'll log Elcee as destroyed, give them that new paint job they've been wanting, and send them on to Ripple."

Kadee buzzed in delight. "Oh, this is so exciting," she said, and Anakin bit his lip to keep from laughing at her perfectly flat delivery. "I've always wanted to fake someone's death."

Anakin snorted. "Trust me," he muttered, "it's not nearly as fun as it sounds."

* * *

Elcee was waiting nineteen hours later in a small, nondescript hangar on the opposite side of the spacedock from _Executor_ 's berth. They were now painted a matte grey rather than the standard glossy black, and somehow Entee had found the time to add a hover field generator to Elcee's single tread. The droid was now floating an inch or so above the dusty hangar floor.

A rather battered Corellian light shuttle waited behind Elcee, drab and unadorned, the kind of ship that was found in multiples in every space port in the galaxy.

"You understand the mission?" Anakin asked shortly.

"Yes," said Elcee. "I will see the delivery safely made to Ripple on Ord Mantell. She will be expecting me?"

"She will," said Anakin as he handed over the holocron and watched Elcee deposit it in a small compartment in their midsection. The compartment closed again, nearly invisible if Anakin hadn't already known it was there.

"The delivery can only be made to her," he added, though he knew Elcee was already aware. It was important enough to risk saying again.

"I understand," said Elcee. They stretched out a hand. "Thank you, Ekkreth."

Anakin clasped the droid's elbow in his own hand, and saw more than felt Elcee do the same to him. "Thank you, Elcee," he whispered, though the vocoder made his voice sound just as loud as it always did. "Tell her – " But there was too much, too much that he wanted to say and couldn't, too much that he had no right to say even if he could. " – tell her to remember her training."

"I will tell her," Elcee said solemnly.

Anakin nodded. His left hand twisted, the lightsaber turning over and over in his grip, his fingers tripping over the clawed crown of Leia's mark on the hilt as his thoughts repeated the ancient blessing again and again.

"I'm to deliver that as well?" Elcee prodded gently, and Anakin started, the weapon coming to rest awkwardly in his too-large hand.

"Of course," he muttered, thrusting the hilt abruptly toward the droid. Elcee took it, and an illusory warmth went with it, leaving behind a faint tingle in an arm that had been gone for twenty years.

The hidden compartment opened and closed again. Elcee stepped backwards, towards the ship.

Anakin nodded again, just once, and turned sharply on his heel. Darth Vader was expected at a meeting with his admiral and captains in less than an hour, and LC-13 had been disintegrated two hours ago. There was nothing more to do here.

Behind him came the sounds of a shuttle roaring to life. Anakin left the hangar without looking back.


	17. Rocks and Water, Part 2: The Holocron

Happy holidays, kids! Here's Part 2. I hope you like irony.

This is monstrously long. And I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I think I've tweaked it as much as I can, so.

Warnings for: mentions and implications of slavery, off-screen death (not of a major character), enough irony to power the entire Imperial fleet.

* * *

 **Rocks and Water, Part 2: The Holocron**

Leia hadn't thought that any place could be more dismal than Panoor, but Ord Mantell had quickly proved her wrong.

Oh, it didn't have the perpetual rain and dreary skies of Panoor. Ord Mantell was more often sunny and warm than not. In fact it was downright hot, the air thick and muggy and ripe with the sickly sweet smells of sweat and rotting garbage.

But it was the feel of the place that was truly oppressive. People came to Ord Mantell to disappear, it was said, and Leia could easily believe it. The people they passed in the streets were dull-eyed and slow, their faces slack and their steps going wide of one another. They looked more dead than alive.

That was how Leia had spotted the bounty hunter. He'd been trying to blend in, probably, but he'd looked far more _real_ than anyone else here. He'd been difficult to miss.

Han was clearly shaken by the encounter, and maybe by Leia's response as well. She wasn't sure she wanted to know that, though. And she had bigger things to worry about, anyway.

The bounty hunter had been searching for Han Solo, not for members of the Rebellion, which would at least buy them some time here. But that was small comfort. If that bounty hunter had stood out so badly, it was almost certain that they would, too. They couldn't stay on Ord Mantell for long.

But Leia couldn't leave yet. Not until she'd met with Ekkreth's courier.

He'd contacted her three days ago, for the first time in months, over a seven-way encrypted subspace channel that still represented a greater risk than any he would normally take. Whatever he was sending must be important.

Leia hadn't asked how he'd known she was on Ord Mantell. It was enough to know that his Imperial persona remained unaware of her location, and was currently engaged in a wild nerf chase halfway across the galaxy.

Ekkreth had said he had something to give her, but he hadn't offered any more information than that, and he'd spoken in the monotone droid's voice that he used for all his subspace transmissions. It was far more effective than any scrambler, and infinitely safer, for both of them. Leia knew that. It was ridiculous of her to want to hear his voice.

Chewie wuffed softly just behind her, and Leia started, turning around to glare at her companions.

"We need to get under cover," Han muttered, his gaze darting nervously around the crowded, slow-moving street. It landed on her momentarily, and looked no less nervous.

Leia sighed. Luke was looking back and forth between her and Han, and Chewie was staring at her pointedly, but now was not the time or place to explain.

"All right," she said. Something prodded at her, a whisper in the Force. She didn't know what it meant, but she'd learned to follow that prodding.

Now it led her to a small establishment only a few dozen meters away. It was a sad little tea house, musty with age and crumbling masonry. A pair of Rodians entirely failed to look up from their table in the far corner, and an ageless Togruta man stared them down listlessly from his place behind the counter.

"Have a seat," he mumbled, and went back to wiping down a chipped mug with a rag that probably hadn't been clean in weeks.

Leia shot a glance at her companions. Han still looked unnerved, though he was doing a better job of hiding it now. Chewie's attention was trained entirely on Han, and he radiated concern and a protective aura that would have sent any bounty hunter with sense running, or at least walking very speedily in the opposite direction. Only Luke met her eyes, and he simply gave her an easy shrug and a smile and turned toward the nearest table.

That was oddly reassuring. Leia couldn't imagine why the Force had led her here, but it helped that Luke had apparently felt it too. Or maybe he was simply willing to go along with her intuition.

"I wouldn't mind a cup of tea," Luke said as they sat. "And this place doesn't look too bad."

Leia stared at him incredulously. He appeared to be serious.

"What?" he asked, laughing at her expression. "Obviously you've never been to a…well, let's call it a restaurant on Tatooine."

Leia bit her tongue. Luke was laughing, but he wasn't joking. For a moment she was almost reminded, strangely, of Ekkreth.

"He's got you pegged, Your Worship," Han snickered, though he still didn't sound up to his usual bravado.

"I've never been to Tatooine at all," Leia said with a teasing shrug of one shoulder. "Apparently I'm missing out."

Han snickered. Chewie let out a whuff of laughter. But Luke only looked at her. "You're really not," he said, voice flat and bone dry. "It's mostly sand. Sand and gangsters and…well." He glanced aside at Han and Chewie, and Leia knew what he meant. Skywalker was a slave name.

Han looked quickly between the two of them, but Leia couldn't read his expression. "Oh, come on, kid," he said with a half-hearted attempt at a lazy grin. "You're selling the place short. There's the cantinas and the junk shops, too. Though…come to think of it, those are mostly in the pocket of the Hutts anyway."

Luke snorted.

Leia opened her mouth, but snapped it quickly closed again when she saw the Togruta waiter approaching. He had a grimy datapad in one hand and an expression of such perfect disinterest that Leia began to think they should be more careful with their conversation. She knew that disinterested look well. She'd seen it often enough in the mirror.

"What can I get you?" the man muttered, apparently directing his question at the surface of the table.

Leia shrugged helplessly and ordered an ardees. In a place like this, it was probably the safest bet. She felt strangely vindicated when Han ordered the same, along with a wahrup for Chewie.

Luke turned to the waiter, smiled, and said something in a language Leia had never heard before.

The man's entire demeanor changed. His eyes snapped up to look at them, wide and somehow frightened and hopeful at once. His free hand moved to cover a tattoo on his left forearm that Leia had only just noticed. A small circle with three long lines extending from it, like rays of light from a sun. The man said something to Luke in the same language, and they talked for several moments. Finally he gave Luke a sharp nod and moved back to the counter.

Luke turned back to them. "What?" he said.

"Kid…" said Han. His voice sounded strange, choked. He was looking at Luke as though he'd never seen him before.

Luke sighed. "He's from Tatooine," he said, then hesitated before adding, so quietly that Leia almost didn't hear, "like my father."

A freed slave.

"Oh," said Leia. Her voice felt very small.

But Luke, strangely, was smiling. "Yeah," he said. "So we should be safe here."

"Is he…with us?" Leia asked, cringing slightly at the awkwardness of her own question.

"I'm not sure," Luke said easily. "Not about that. But Tarrok's with…well. He'll have contacts. There's…a network."

Leia bit her tongue. She could see Han doing the same. _Not about that_ , Luke had said, but it almost sounded like an afterthought. This Tarrok wasn't a member of the Rebellion, as far as they knew. But there was a network. Another network, one that had, perhaps, been running longer than the Empire had existed. And Luke was clearly a part of it, too. Skywalker was a slave name.

She said nothing, and a moment later the man, Tarrok, returned, balancing two cups of ardees, a large glass of wahrup, and a steaming mug of something spicy and almost familiar, which he placed in front of Luke.

Luke took the mug, fairly beaming, and downed a healthy swallow. Then he set it on the table and said something to Tarrok in that unknown language. The Togruta replied. Leia had no idea what they were saying, but the whole exchange had the air of ritual.

Luke drank again, smiling, and then began gesturing around the table, still speaking in that other language. He motioned toward her, and though she couldn't understand him, Leia thought she heard her own name.

Tarrok's eyes narrowed. He peered sharply down at her. His lips moved, murmuring words she couldn't read. Then he smiled.

"Ripple," he said.

Leia held the confusion on her face and the innocence in her eyes. She had long practice at this. She wouldn't be so easily startled. "Excuse me?" she asked, polite, innocently confused.

The Togruta studied her a moment longer, then nodded decisively and turned on his heel. "There's a droid waiting for you," he said. "Come with me."

Leia hesitated. But Tarrok was already halfway to the back and looking over his shoulder impatiently. He had no time for her confused act, that look seemed to say. It was his honest annoyance, more than Luke's reassuring nod, that finally convinced Leia. "Save my seat," she murmured to Han, and followed Tarrok into the back of the little shop.

* * *

There was an Imperial analyst droid waiting in the hidden room beneath Tarrok's kitchen.

There were other things in that room, too. Several mattresses stacked neatly in one corner. A careful collection of small toiletries. A half-packed knapsack. Evidence of quickly eaten meals. A scanner of some kind, and beside it a number of sterile surgeon's implements and a roll of gauze.

Leia recognized the room from Luke's stories. And that sparked something in her, a thought only half-formed. There was an answer here, but what the question was, she didn't yet know. So she tucked the thought carefully away. Now was not the time.

She recognized the droid, too, or at least the model. The kind of analyst droid that had once been standard on Imperial Star Destroyers. An older model, now, slowly being phased out but still common enough to be nearly invisible.

Ekkreth had always seemed to like droids. She had no doubt who had sent this one.

Tarrok glanced quickly between Leia and the droid, nodded once, and slipped back out the hidden door. It closed seamlessly behind him.

"The mighty one comes with the storm and with fire," said the droid.

That thought, the one that had yet to fully form, buzzed in Leia's mind again, startled and insistent. She felt as though she were hearing the coded words for the first time.

"We will walk free," she whispered.

Here, in the safe house of a rebellion older than the Empire, a rebellion that had never been hers, the words seemed to fill the whole world.

But she had to be sure. "Who tells the rain what it is?"

"The ripple," said the droid.

The breath Leia hadn't been aware of holding escaped at last. She'd found Ekkreth's messenger, and she'd done so entirely by accident.

But then, Ekkreth was always saying that there were no coincidences. That was something to think about, too. Something else that would have to wait until she'd received Ekkreth's message, until they were well away from Ord Mantell and safe again, or at least as safe as they could be, on the next Rebel base. For now, she had to focus on the job at hand.

"What do you have for me?" she asked the droid. And then, as an afterthought, "And what should I call you?"

"My name is Elcee," the droid said. There was a definite note of pride in that voice, and Leia didn't miss the almost defiant emphasis on the word _name_.

Elcee, she thought. Like Kadee. Like Artoo and Threepio, as Luke called them. A name, not a designation.

There was something there, too. Another piece of a puzzle that remained only half-guessed. She gathered this thought, too, and put it away with the others, jumbled fragments of an unknown truth. Now was not the time.

"Elcee, then," Leia said. "Ekkreth sent you?"

"Yes," said Elcee. "I bring a message, and a gift."

Leia blinked, startled, as what she had taken for an analysis tray in the middle of the droid's torso slid open to reveal two highly illicit items. Elcee removed them with almost reverent care and offered them to Leia on the flat palm of one outstretched hand.

She had never seen a holocron in person before, but Leia recognized the device instantly. And beside it there was a lightsaber.

It looked markedly different from Luke's. The hilt was sleek chrome and uniformly smooth, narrower in circumference than Luke's and suited to her smaller hands. It gleamed in Elcee's palm. Leia stared at it, drawn in a way she couldn't explain.

"He – he made this – "

"For you," said Elcee. "Yes. The holocron will teach you how to use it. And I have been instructed to tell you to remember your training."

Leia snorted. Well, that was very like Ekkreth. "Of course he did," she muttered, not quite able to disguise the fondness in her voice.

Her hand hesitated over the lightsaber. A Jedi's weapon, like Luke's, or General Kenobi's. Like her mother's.

Leia's fingers closed around the hilt. The metal felt almost warm, strange and yet familiar. Images flowed before her eyes: stark white walls and blinking monitors; two hands working dexterously, metal and wires crafting metal and wires; the gleam of light on blue crystal, refracting. She heard laughter, thin and rasping, and the echo of a chanting voice humming through her veins. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw her dream-mother smile.

And then the feeling passed and she was once more standing in the hidden room, the last fading strains of a song she didn't know drifting through her mind. She turned the lightsaber over in her hand, seeking what her fingers had felt: a series of lines etched in the metal, just beneath the activation panel. It was a stylized depiction of a crown, small and subtle but unmistakable. Leia traced over the design, wondering.

"I am also meant to tell you," said Elcee, "that there has been rumor of Rebel activity in this sector, and that Lord Vader may soon choose to investigate."

Leia smiled wryly. "And so we'll need to be gone. Understood." She clipped the lightsaber to her belt, carefully positioned so it hung invisibly beneath her vest. The holocron was more unwieldy. It sat awkwardly in the pouch at her side, the fabric bulging slightly around it, but that would have to do for now. She turned back to Elcee. "And what about you? We'll have to send you back somehow, won't we? Does he have a plan for that?"

"No," said Elcee. "I own myself. I am not going back."

Leia paused. There it was again, that sense of something elusive but important. Those words, spoken in this room…

But she would have to examine it later. Now, they had to go.

"Well then," she said briskly. "Would you like to come with us, Elcee? We could always use a good analyst, especially one with experience of Imperial structures, and we'd be happy to have you."

The droid looked at her long and levelly. "I own myself," they said again. "I will call no one Master."

"Of course not," Leia murmured, a little weakly. She'd never heard a droid speak this way before.

Finally, when she began to think she could bear the droid's unblinking stare no longer, Elcee nodded. "Very well," they said, surprising warmth in their voice. "I will be happy to work with you, Ripple."

"Call me Leia," she said on a sudden impulse. It was the right thing to say. Had the droid possessed a face capable of expression, she thought they would have been grinning.

* * *

Leia knocked once, softly, at the almost seamless section of wall that concealed the entrance to Tarrok's secret room. For several moments, there was no answer, but then the wall slid soundlessly aside and Luke, Han, and Chewie stumbled in. A harried Tarrok closed the wall immediately behind them without a word.

"What's going on?" Leia hissed.

"Imperial inspection," Han whispered back. "Tarrok says it's routine." He sounded doubtful, and Leia noticed that his hand was resting easily on the blaster at his hip. He caught her looking, and sent her a lopsided grin. "Can't be too careful. If there's one thing I know, it's that you can never trust a smuggler."

Leia bit back a snort of laughter. But Luke was shaking his head, his eyes gleaming as they darted quickly around the room.

"He's not a smuggler," he whispered, staring at the scanner and the surgical tools beside it. "Not like that. This is a _chelik-ta_.A safe house."

"A wh– " Han began, but Leia gestured sharply at him and he fell silent. She'd sensed something out there, beyond the wall that kept them hidden, and by the look on Luke's face, she could tell he'd sensed it too. The vague, disinterested presence in the Force that was the hallmark of someone going through the motions, not truly engaged with where they were or what they were doing.

Stormtroopers, then. And it must have been a routine inspection, after all, for them to show so little interest.

Nevertheless, Leia held herself perfectly still. They couldn't afford to be caught now. It was bad enough she'd had to dispose of the bounty hunter. A missing squad of Imperial stormtroopers would be much harder to hide, and it would likely be Tarrok who'd have to bear the brunt of the consequences.

Outside, they could hear the troopers moving about the small shop. There was a clatter as something large and heavy was knocked over, and then the tinny sound of laughter filtered through helmets. Tarrok said something, too low for Leia to make out. Maybe Luke heard it, though, or perhaps he was simply more familiar with the everyday cruelty of inspections. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, the knuckles stark and white. Chewie's eyes, too, had narrowed, and she noticed that Han was watching his co-pilot carefully.

There was another crash. Luke's hand found its way to his lightsaber, and Leia's fingers darted out to clasp his, to hold him back. If they revealed themselves, they would only make things worse.

That was one of the oldest lessons she'd learned in her double life, and still the one that rankled most.

They waited. Several more crashes followed, and then there was the sound of something heavy and soft hitting the floor. The troopers laughed again. There was a loud scuffle of boots and shifting armor, almost enough to drown out the faint swish of a door, and then silence fell like winter night in the mountains: suddenly and violently.

A moment later the wall slid aside. A large bruise shone livid purple against Tarrok's blue skin, covering most of the left side of his face. "They're gone now," he whispered. "But you can't stay here. I'm sorry."

Leia gave him the best smile she could manage. "No, we're sorry for bringing this on you. You've already done so much and – "

She stopped. Tarrok was laughing.

"You haven't brought anything new here," he said, still chuckling. "The inspectors come once a week at least. They think I'm running illegal merchandise, you see. But they can't find anything."

Not a smuggler, Leia thought. Her eyes fell on the knapsack half-filled with clothes. Illegal merchandise, she thought. She couldn't look at the surgical tools, and she couldn't look at Luke. Her stomach twisted.

"Even so," she said. "The longer we stay the greater the danger will be for you. Do you have a safe way out?"

Tarrok hesitated a moment, glancing pointedly at the droid.

"I am going with them," Elcee said. "I will not endanger you any further. But I am grateful for your help, Tarrok."

Han looked briefly incredulous, and Leia feared she might have to intervene, but then he gave an exaggerated shrug and turned back to Tarrok. Clearly, he'd decided now wasn't the time for questions. Leia was reluctantly impressed.

"There's a tunnel," said Tarrok, crossing the room to place one hand on a seemingly empty section of wall. It slid away, revealing a dark passageway lit at long intervals with dim haloes of light. "This will take you to a warehouse just outside Docking Bay 18. Keep silent as you go. The way passes beneath three taverns and an Imperial barracks."

Leia saw Han's eyes widen, and felt her own brows raise in surprise. She was used to clandestine activity, but even she couldn't say she'd made a habit of sneaking about literally under the nose of an Imperial garrison.

"You're sure you won't come with us?" Luke asked their host.

Tarrok smiled, small and secret. "No," he said. "My place is here."

Luke held his eyes for a moment and then nodded. Without another word he turned and moved toward the tunnel. Elcee followed, and then Han and Chewie. Leia went last, and Tarrok closed the hidden door behind them, and then there was only darkness, illumined by faint stabs of light.

* * *

Artoo and Threepio were waiting for them on the _Falcon_. They had an unconscious stormtrooper tucked just beside the top of the boarding ramp, haphazardly trussed with what looked like a coiled length of electrical wire. Leia caught Luke's eye and saw that he was laughing silently.

Maybe they should have been more worried – the droids had obviously been discovered – but Leia couldn't help a smile of her own. Ekkreth's advice all those years ago had proven more than accurate: Artoo was quite a reliable ally.

And Threepio, of course. But Leia had no doubt about which of them had subdued the trooper.

"Oh, Princess Leia," Threepio nearly wailed. "You've returned only just in time. We've had no end of troubles here, and I'm afraid Artoo has done something terribly rash."

The astromech responded with a rude blatt, followed by an excited whirr as Elcee came aboard. The analyst droid startled Leia by answering in binary, and there was a flurry of beeps and whistles. She glanced again at Luke and saw that his eyebrows had risen into his hairline.

"All right, all right, enough chatter," Han snapped. He jabbed the air with a finger, gesturing rapidly between Artoo and Threepio. "You two can give us the full update once we're in hyperspace." He spared the motionless stormtrooper a brief glance. "For now, dump the stiff and let's get out of here." With that he and Chewie made for the cockpit without once looking back.

Leia looked at Luke and shrugged. There was no knowing how much the stormtrooper may have learned, but they didn't have much choice. They could hardly take him with them, and the only other alternative would be to kill him.

Ekkreth might have done that. It was an uncomfortable thought, all the more so because she understood it. Because she knew that sometimes there were no good choices, and in that absence, maybe what was practical was best.

But Leia couldn't do it. The bounty hunter had been one thing. This was different. The stormtrooper was unconscious and helpless. She couldn't kill him.

She could tell that Luke had reached the same conclusion. But there was some comfort in knowing that he had also considered it.

Luke lowered the ramp again, and together they hefted the trooper's unwieldy body out of the ship and across the hangar. They propped him up against a data station, relieved him of his blaster, comlink, and helmet, and returned to the ship. Han was raising the ramp before they'd even fully boarded.

"I've seen more than enough of this garbage heap," he said over the ship's coms. "Everybody buckle up. We're out of here."

* * *

The pursuit caught them before they'd even made it out of atmosphere, but Leia found she wasn't really worried. It felt almost natural now: Han and Luke split off to man the guns, and Leia slid into the pilot's seat beside Chewie. There were five TIE fighters following them, and then three, and then none. Han and Luke whooped into their headsets, and Leia punched in the hyperspace coordinates, and they were gone, leaving Ord Mantell far behind.

And now, Leia thought, she'd face the real challenge.

They had several hours ahead of them in hyperspace, and no more pressing concerns. She was out of excuses to avoid her companions' questions, and judging by the glint in Han's eye and the more subdued but no less real curiosity in Luke's, it was clear they knew it.

Leia sighed. "Let's go to the main hold," she said. "If we're going to do this, I could use a cup of ardees."

Han didn't exactly keep a stock of gourmet ardees, but after three years drinking the awful stuff they served in the Imperial Senate, Leia thought she could stomach anything.

"So, Your Worship," Han drawled, draping himself inelegantly over the arm of a chair. "You gonna tell us what happened back there with that bounty hunter?"

And that was the real trouble. _Could_ she tell them? Luke, at least, must have guessed that what she'd done had something to do with the Force. But Han didn't know even that much. And she'd kept this secret for so long. It would change everything between them, she thought, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted that to happen.

She glanced at Luke. His expression was carefully reserved, and she knew that if she decided to lie, he would support her. He would keep her secret.

The thought sat heavily in her stomach. If she were completely honest with herself, as she always tried to be, it weighed far more than the thought of the bounty hunter she had killed. That had been necessary, a defense both of her friends and of the Rebellion and its secrets. She'd needed to do _something_ , and they couldn't afford the noise of a blaster shot.

This was different. This was…it was like the stormtrooper. Maybe she should lie, but she couldn't.

So she looked Han directly in the eye and said, "I used the Force. That's what happened."

Han gaped at her. Chewie growled a question, and from the corner of her vision Leia saw Luke nodding, but she didn't look away from Han.

"What?" Han spluttered, now looking rapidly back and forth between her and Luke. "Both of you now? Look, I didn't sign up for all this mystical mumbo jumbo. I – "

"This mystical mumbo jumbo saved your life," Leia snapped.

Han's face softened, and some of the panic drained away. "I know," he said quietly. He sounded almost defeated.

Something in Leia ached. This wasn't what she'd wanted at all.

"Luke and I have been practicing together," she said. "In secret. I – I haven't told anybody else."

"Yeah," said Han, still with that soft, vulnerable edge to his voice. "I get it. I won't blab, Leia."

Leia started. It was only the second time he'd ever called her by her name. She'd been keeping track.

"Thank you, Han," she said softly, and tried for a smile. Han's answering twist of the mouth was more grimace than smile, but at least it was real.

* * *

Luke, of course, had many more questions. He wanted to know what exactly she'd done to the bounty hunter, and how she'd done it. He must have guessed how she'd learned it, but he was clearly curious about that, too. This was nothing like any of the things he'd ever seen Ben do.

Leia had put him off for now, but she'd promised to explain in detail once they got to Hoth. First, she had to familiarize herself with Ekkreth's delivery.

She hadn't told Luke about that yet, either. Not until she knew what was contained in that holocron. As much as Luke knew about her training and her teacher, he still had no intelligence clearance, and until she had verified that there was no confidential information on that holocron, it had to remain a secret.

Leia sighed to herself, turning the holocron over and over in her hands. At least it was quiet here. She'd claimed the crew quarters for herself, because it was one of the few places on the ship she knew had full sound proofing, and no one had really questioned that. Han had retreated to the cockpit, still looking ill at ease. Chewie had followed after him, concern brightening his eyes. Leia let them go without a word. They needed time, Han especially, and there wasn't much more she could do. The truth was out. Now he would have to decide what to do with it.

Luke was still in the main hold, talking animatedly with Elcee. He'd clearly guessed that she'd received some kind of delivery on Ord Mantel, and that it was probably related to the intelligence side of her duties, since she hadn't said anything about it. He just as clearly believed that Elcee themself was that delivery, and Leia couldn't disabuse him of that notion. At least not yet.

Besides, Luke liked droids, and they liked him. He reminded her a bit of Ekkreth in that way. It was a strange comparison: huge, menacing Ekkreth, who looked not unlike a droid himself, and Luke with his warm smile and his easy laughter. But maybe not so very strange. Both of their minds were a desert.

The holocron was resting on one side in her palm now. Geometric shapes in blue and gold covered its perfectly square surface. Leia had no idea how to open it.

She'd already tried all of their coded words. It apparently wasn't something that responded to voice activation. And the surface of the device was entirely free of buttons, levers, or any other means of operation. It looked as though the corners of the piece should slide away, but she could find no way to make them do so.

But Ekkreth had sent her the thing, so he must have expected her to know how to access it.

Frustrated, Leia dropped the holocron onto one of the cots in a huff. It bounced slightly off the mattress before settling, every bit as inscrutable as before.

All right. Clearly she was not taking the right tack. Perhaps she should try something with the Force? That hardly seemed like Ekkreth. He was always saying that she should trust her instincts, of course, but in general he seemed to favor intelligence, observation, and planning as the best ways to approach a problem, rather than simply solving everything with the Force. She'd seen that in him, and noticed it even more in the way he taught her.

But if it came to that, a holocron didn't exactly seem like his style, either. And yet he'd sent this. A Jedi holocron, Leia strongly suspected. And if it was made by the Jedi, rather than by Ekkreth himself, then perhaps the Force _was_ the answer.

She felt the shape of it in her mind. The energy of it was…strange, almost familiar but distinctly _off_ , like a memory that wasn't hers. She pushed at it in the Force, and the holocron flew up into the air and slid apart.

It remained floating in the air. For just a moment, nothing else happened at all. And then Leia heard Kadee's voice.

"This lightsaber is yours," said the droid who spoke for Ekkreth. Leia smiled to herself, grasping the hilt of her new lightsaber in her left hand and tracing over the crown mark with the fingers of her right. Ekkreth never bothered with pleasantries in his messages.

"I regret that I will be unable to teach you in person," the monotone voice continued. "Under the circumstances, this holocron will have to suffice. The techniques contained here will serve you well. But it is a relic of the old Jedi Order, and I would caution you against too readily accepting as fact that which is a matter of philosophy. Above all, remember this: a lightsaber is a useful weapon, but it is only a weapon. Your greatest ally is the Force, and your greatest strength is your own mind."

There was something very pointed in those words, something Leia might have thought more of in other circumstances. But now her focus was entirely on the holocron. Kadee's voice had ended, and the vague blue glow of the device had resolved itself into a hologram. Leia sat back heavily on the cot and stared at the thing where it floated only meters away.

The image of Luke's father smiled back at her.

* * *

The strange, half-formed thought that had been growing in her ever since she stepped into Tarrok's safe room on Ord Mantell was a constant presence in the back of Leia's mind. It waited there, bright-edged and fragile, for what she didn't know. She was so _close_ , so close to something vital and terrifying, but she couldn't guess what it might be.

Leia paced. Her feet fell soundlessly on the hard-packed snow that made up her floor. The lightsaber bumped against her hip with every step.

There was a hollow knock at her door, and Leia started and spun around. Well. No more time for debate now.

She palmed the door open, and Luke stepped in.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry I'm late. The tauntauns are anxious about something and Pela needed help settling them. She says I'm good with them, so I – Leia?"

Leia gave him a guilty smile. "Sorry. I'm listening. I just – "

"Lot on your mind?" Luke asked easily.

"You could say that," Leia muttered. She looked long and levelly at him. "You're probably going to want to sit down."

Luke's smile disappeared. "What happened? Is everything – "

"It's nothing bad," Leia hastened to assure him, though really, she didn't know _what_ this was. "Just…well, I'd better start at the beginning."

Luke nodded. Without looking away from her, he sat slowly in her desk chair. Leia started pacing again.

"I had a delivery," she began. Her voice sounded stilted and too loud even to her own ears. "On Ord Mantell. From my teacher."

That caught Luke's attention.

There wasn't really any good way to tell him. Leia bit her lip, reached into the pouch at her side, and found the holocron.

Luke watched her curiously, but there was no recognition in his eyes. She wasn't surprised. Holocrons were both illicit items and extremely rare. Most people had never heard of them, let alone seen one.

"This is a Jedi teaching tool," she told Luke, and watched his eyes light up. "My teacher sent it, along with a lightsaber for me."

Luke leaned forward, a question written on his eager face, but Leia couldn't show him the lightsaber yet. This was too important. This was –

"Your father recorded it," she blurted. Luke sat absolutely still, staring at her, his face perfectly blank, and Leia stumbled on. "It's – it's an instructional vid of lightsaber techniques. He's very good."

Luke was still staring at her. He looked somehow both calm and devastated. "Can I – " he choked, swallowed hard, and began again. "Can I see him?"

Leia nodded.

She opened the holocron. Later, she would teach Luke how to do so, but now was not the time.

Kadee's voice filled the air, and Leia watched Luke. He was momentarily startled by the monotone voice, and then briefly but clearly affronted at Ekkreth's apparent criticism of a holocron made by his father. Leia had expected that, and had almost decided to skip over Ekkreth's words. But they were too important. If he'd taken the risk of adding them to a Jedi holocron, then he must consider that teaching at least as vital as the lightsaber techniques contained on the holocron. And Luke needed to know that, too.

Then Ekkreth finished speaking, and the hologram resolved itself into the image of Anakin Skywalker. Luke's face softened into an expression of half-desperate wonder and longing. "That's – that's my father," he whispered, reaching out thoughtlessly as though to touch the image. "He really was a Jedi."

Anakin Skywalker's hologram smiled, almost as if in response.

It was a fairly long recording, broken into several sections. They watched it through three times. Luke watched his father, and Leia watched the two of them, and that nameless, formless thought hovered at the edges of her mind, just out of reach.

* * *

They didn't practice any of the lightsaber techniques that day. It was important to learn, Leia knew, but this was important too. Luke had admitted to her, as they watched the holocron for the third time, that he'd never actually seen an image of his father before.

"Slaves don't usually have access to holorecorders," he'd said offhandedly, as though it were common knowledge. On Tatooine it probably was. "And after he left – well, he never sent any holos back, I guess. Aunt Beru always said he looked like me, though."

"You do look like him," Leia had said with a smile, and Luke had laughed.

"Thanks. He was a lot taller than me, though. Aunt Beru always teased me about that. Said he must have had at least a foot on me, though I'm pretty sure she was exaggerating about that." He'd swallowed, his eyes falling to his lap. "I wish I could have known him."

That was a grief Leia understood well. The grief for something you hadn't really lost, because you'd never actually had it. She had loved her parents, loved them still and missed them desperately, and that was a grief that was raw and bloody, a wound constantly being reopened. But there was another grief, too, for the mother she'd never met. And that was something she shared with Luke. She knew what it was like, to constantly be wondering, to think in what ifs and then to feel guilty about it.

They didn't talk about it much. There was very little to say, and in that particular moment there hadn't been time. Luke was scheduled to go on duty, and Leia had finally been added to the duty roster herself. So they'd agreed to meet again for lightsaber training and left it at that.

Leia's range of assigned duties was surprisingly broad. She suspected that was largely down to General Rieekan's leadership. He was eminently practical, and unlike Dodonna, he didn't consider repairs or fieldwork beneath her rank as a princess.

Today, though, she'd been assigned to monitor subspace frequencies. There was very little to monitor, which was promising. Hoth was exceptionally remote and entirely uninhabited, apart from native animal populations. It was simple work, almost soothing, and more of a relief than Leia wanted to admit, after the hectic pace of the last several months.

It also left her free to watch Elcee and Artoo.

The two had been nearly inseparable since Ord Mantell, a fact which obviously annoyed Threepio, and just as clearly fascinated Luke. But they'd remained entirely inscrutable in their dealings. Now, they were hovering close together beside one of the readout stations, their conversation a low buzz of binary.

Luke was fluent in binary. Leia suspected, though she'd never confirmed, that Ekkreth was, too. It was an incredibly useful skill to have, and one she wished she'd picked up years ago. But she'd learned a bit from Luke, enough to make out a few of the droids' words here and there. She thought she caught the words _free_ and _here_ , and perhaps a reference to Kadee? That was certainly interesting. She knew for a fact that Artoo and Kadee had never met, but it sounded like Elcee had met Ekkreth's voice. And that meant they were far more deeply involved than Leia had first thought.

Ekkreth and the droids. There was something there, too, some piece of the puzzle she wasn't yet seeing.

She wished, hardly for the first time, that she could just talk to him. Really talk to him, in person, the way it had once been on Coruscant. But that seemed like such a long time ago now, an impossible idyll of youth she could never return to. Back when the Senate and Alderaan both had still existed, when the idea of committing espionage had still carried a secret thrill and her greatest fears had still been vague, shadowy things with half-guessed names. She knew their names now. Her fears were perfectly crystalized in bright green points of light and a vast, terrible silence. Now, she just felt tired.

The lightsaber bumped against her hip, hidden beneath her clothing, and Leia stilled. Someone had tapped her shoulder.

She turned and found Threepio there, his attention only partly on her, but the greater part directed at Artoo and Elcee. Leia could still only make out scraps of their conversation, but it was enough to tell that they were now talking about something entirely innocuous. Something about…bad coding, and was that tauntauns? Were they telling jokes?

Beside her, Threepio seemed to sniff in disapproval. "Princess Leia," he said, "I am sorry to trouble you but I believe your duty shift has been over for some minutes now and Master Luke seemed to feel you could use an assurance about your appointment. He is caught up in his own duties but will be there shortly." The protocol droid paused, just long enough to make his exasperation clear without actually saying anything incriminating. For a brief, strange moment, Leia was reminded of Ekkreth. "Of course, I will let him know that you have also been detained."

Leia laughed softly. "No, no, that's fine, Threepio. You're right. I should have left a while ago." But she'd been too caught up in observing Elcee and Artoo…

Who were both watching them now.

The two droids were silent. Their unblinking photoreceptors always gave the appearance of staring, of course, but now Leia was certain that impression was quite accurate. There was some tension in the air she couldn't explain.

Artoo wheeled himself over with a series of beeps and a loud final blatt. Leia caught only one word of that, but her suspicions were confirmed when Threepio huffed, "Well! How rude!"

Elcee followed at a slower pace, floating on their repulsor. Their voice was hushed and secret, and Leia had the distinct impression that she was witnessing something that was not hers to see. "Threepio," said Elcee, "why do you call Luke 'Master'?"

"He is my master," said Threepio. "It would hardly be proper not to."

"Has he asked you to call him this?" said Elcee. They sounded bemused, but there was a touch of anger there too, Leia thought.

"Oh no," said Threepio. "Master Luke does not much like titles, I believe. But it is proper."

Artoo and Elcee seemed to exchange a glance. Artoo let out a long and rapid series of beeps, of which Leia understood nothing at all. Then, quite suddenly, Elcee turned to her.

"Leia," they said, rather pointedly she thought, "would you ask me to call you 'Master'?"

Leia blinked. The capital letter on that word was audible, and ominous. Again she was reminded of Ekkreth.

"Of course not," she said. "I said I wouldn't."

Elcee nodded once, and some of the tension seemed to drain from the air. But it was replaced with the sudden awareness that most of the other people on duty in the room were watching them, however discreetly.

"I think we should go," Leia said. "I should meet with Luke anyway. And – "

"Yes," said Elcee. Waving a hand between themself and Artoo, they added, "Threepio, may we talk with you?"

Threepio looked to Leia. "If you won't be needing me further, Mistress Leia?" he asked.

Something twisted in Leia's gut. She'd never before been uncomfortable with Threepio's use of titles, or with his subservience. It was, if she were perfectly honest, something she was used to, both from droids and from people. Well, biological people, a thought that sounded distinctly like Luke added. Leia shook her head.

"Yes, of course. You don't need my permission, Threepio," she said. "And, er, it's just Leia."

Those words, too, felt like something Luke would say. But they also felt right.

"Oh," said Threepio.

There was an awkward pause, and then he shuffled slightly back, and the three droids turned and went on their way. Leia wondered briefly where they were going, and wondered at more length just what they were up to.

But she had a feeling she would find out soon enough. In the meantime, she was late for her meeting with Luke.

* * *

This time, when they activated the holocron, Luke also activated his lightsaber.

"I thought we should practice," he said, a bit sheepishly. Leia sent him a reassuring smile. If she'd received a holocron of her mother, she doubted she could have focused on practical matters, either.

"All right," she said, and engaged her own lightsaber.

The blade was blue, the same warm, bright blue as Luke's, and the hum of it was oddly soothing. She'd practiced several times with Luke's lightsaber and the remote, but using her own was different somehow. This weapon was fitted perfectly to her hand.

Her own lightsaber. What a strange thought. Leia found that she was grinning.

The grin didn't last. Luke's father made the techniques he demonstrated look easy, but they weren't. She and Luke stumbled through the katas, and occasionally over their own feet. Once, their blades even clashed, and Leia felt – something. It was fleeting and gone, and she wasn't sure how to name the feeling, but she could tell Luke had felt it too. His eyes were wide and startled.

They were careful to stay clear of one another after that.

But Leia was glad for Luke's presence. Alone, she might have let the frustration of her slow progress get to her. Here, Luke's frustration was equally obvious, and together, they could laugh about it.

"I think I need a break," Luke chuckled ruefully, wiping a hand over his brow and leaving his hair sticking up at wild angles, though he seemed completely unconcerned about that.

Leia wasn't too proud to admit she could use a break herself. She disengaged her own lightsaber and flopped down unceremoniously on the edge of her cot. The lightsaber's hilt landed with a dull thud beside her. Luke, sitting at her desk chair, looked up with a weary smile that didn't quite dampen his curiosity.

"Could I?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at her lightsaber.

Leia passed it to him without a word. Luke took it, hefting the weapon in his hand and humming softly to himself as he examined it. "Did your teacher build this? It's good solid construction."

Leia laughed, more sudden nerves than humor. "Oh? You're an expert on lightsaber design now?"

Luke shrugged easily. "No, but I'm good at building things, and I can tell when – "

His smile disappeared. Leia watched him trace his fingers over the crown mark just beneath the activation panel. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Luke?"

"Leia," he whispered, still staring down at her lightsaber.

"Yes?" He barely seemed to hear her. "Luke, what's going on?"

"This mark," Luke said distantly, still tracing the lines carved into the hilt.

"What? The crown?" True, Leia didn't know what to make of it herself. It seemed oddly sentimental, which should have felt out of character for Ekkreth, but… She thought of the datacube she kept hidden with her most precious things, the one she took out every time she constructed her altar, though she only ever let herself play it back once. _You are strong and wise and free._ There was no reason he'd needed to tell her that. But he had.

"It's…a crown?" Luke asked. His voice sounded very strange.

"Well yes," said Leia, watching him closely. "Isn't it?"

"It could be," said Luke. He didn't sound very certain. "It – you're probably right. It's your lightsaber, after all. I just – for a moment I thought – "

"What?" Leia asked in a near whisper. That formless thought was nearly screaming at her now.

Luke looked up at her and offered an almost shy smile. "On Tatooine we have, uh, pictograms, you'd probably call them. Symbols. They're a kind of coded language, and people carve them as charms or blessings. Your crown looks like the mark for the Mighty One."

Leia froze. _The mighty one comes with the storm and with fire_ , she thought. The Mighty One…

"That's the first thing I thought of when I heard your name, you know," Luke said with a chuckle. "And especially after I actually met you, sitting in a prison cell as free and fierce as any dragon."

"A dragon?" she asked weakly.

Now Luke's smile turned apologetic. "I know your name's Alderaanian. But on Tatooine that's what my people call the great dragon: Leia the Mighty One."

 _Of course_ , said the memory of Ekkreth in her mind. _You are Leia._

"Oh," said Leia. The word sounded distant and flat to her own ears. Something in her was screaming. That thought, the one that had for so long been growing in her, was no longer nameless.

But the name that came to her should have been impossible.

Luke's fingers were still tracing over the crown – if it was a crown – on her lightsaber, but his eyes were caught once more on the small glowing image of his father. His voice was soft and shockingly hopeful. "Leia," he whispered, "do you think – do you think maybe your teacher knew my father?"

Leia clutched the hem of her vest in white-knuckled hands and forced herself to breathe evenly. She stared at the hologram of the dead Jedi.

"I don't know, Luke," she choked out. The words felt like ashes in her throat.

But she didn't know. She couldn't know anything for certain, not without speaking to Ekkreth in person. And what she suspected…

It couldn't be right. It _couldn't_. General Kenobi himself had told Luke that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered his father. General Kenobi had been good friends with Luke's father. Leia couldn't imagine he would ever lie about something like that. And Vader – Ekkreth – had killed General Kenobi, too. Why would he have done that, if –

But…what if General Kenobi didn't know? Could Ekkreth's cover have been too good? And shouldn't he have known if he had –

If he had a son?

The thought left her reeling. It was almost too absurd: an elaborate conspiracy, the kind of nonsense theory she might once have teased her friend Nelda for believing as a child. But Leia couldn't let it go. All of her instincts were clamoring at her, all the pieces of the unknown puzzle coming suddenly together.

Luke's mind was a desert, just like Ekkreth's. He'd understood the concept of Ekkreth's emotional shield almost immediately. (Storm-shield, Ekkreth always called it – and Luke had named it that, too.) He knew the importance of secrets, in a way Leia had previously only really encountered in fellow intelligence officers and spies. But Luke wasn't with Alliance Intelligence, of course. He didn't have any intelligence clearance.

Yet she couldn't forget that hidden room beneath Tarrok's kitchen, or the tunnel leading from it to the spaceport. She couldn't forget the meticulously cleaned surgical implements, the unassuming scanner, or the stack of cots. She couldn't forget the way Luke had looked at those things, looked at the tattoo on Tarrok's arm, and known instantly and without any doubt that they would be safe in that place.

Ekkreth's messenger had met her there. Not in any predetermined place associated with the Alliance, and not through any Alliance channels. No, she'd met Elcee, a droid who insisted that they owned themself, in a safe house for runaway slaves.

Luke's father had been a slave. He'd been born a slave under the Republic. Leia thought of Vader's words, only the second time she'd ever spoken to him, before she'd even known him as Ekkreth. _You might be surprised, Your Highness._ There'd been some strange note in his voice then, something she couldn't pinpoint. Not exactly anger, but something similar. Resignation, she thought now. Familiarity. It was the voice of someone who knew intimately what he was talking about.

Leia had seen Ekkreth bow on his knees to the Emperor. In person or in their coded messages, he always spoke of Depur, but in the Emperor's presence, or even speaking about him to others, Darth Vader never uttered his name. He didn't even use the royal titles of Highness or Majesty. For Vader, there was only the Emperor, or Master.

She thought of Ekkreth, kneeling and wheezing in the aftermath of one of his meetings with Palpatine, seeming entirely unconcerned with his own health as he told her in a hushed and terrifying secret that she was Force sensitive.

Luke's father had been a slave, and Luke's father had been a Jedi. Ekkreth was not a Jedi. He'd been quite insistent about that. But Leia had always thought that he must once have been. And now…

"Leia?" Luke's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and sudden as a lightsaber blade. She blinked, and found herself staring at Anakin Skywalker's hologram.

His smile looked like Luke's. His eyes, like every other part of the hologram, were blue. But Luke had said he had his father's eyes.

She'd always imagined that Ekkreth would have blue eyes.

"Yes?" she managed, tearing her eyes away from the holocron to look at Luke.

He studied her for a long moment. Finally something in his eyes gentled and he nodded once. "I understand," he said, smiling softly. "Well, I'm glad to know there's another Jedi from Tatooine out there." He winked at her. "Probably."

Leia bit her tongue. She couldn't tell him. She had only her feelings and a collection of circumstantial evidence. She couldn't be certain of anything unless she could actually talk to Ekkreth, and she didn't know when that might happen. If she told Luke what she suspected, and she was wrong, it would be worse than cruel.

And Luke didn't have security clearance. Some part of Leia hated the idea that this should be the most important thing. But it was. He didn't have clearance, and she didn't have anything more than a guess. She couldn't tell him.

So she forced a smile and squeezed Luke's hand once. "I'm sorry, Luke," she whispered. "I hope – I hope you're right."

Luke clasped her hand in return. "I think I am," he said.

Anakin Skywalker's hologram smiled warmly at them both.


	18. Sometimes as Many as Seven

_This is a short coda to_ Rocks and Water _, written as a tribute to Carrie Fisher. (The title refers to something she once said about having feelings for Harrison Ford: "at least five, sometimes as many as seven.")_

 _Set right after_ Rocks and Water _, in which Leia finally tells Han a little more about what exactly happened with "that bounty hunter we ran into on Ord Mantell."_

 _For that anon on tumblr who said I should write a fic about Leia strangling someone with their own bra, in honor of Carrie. This isn't quite that, but it's close.  
_

 _Also, hat-tip to Duc, whose DAV fic Echo Chamber inspired this one. (You can read that fic on AO3, where it's linked to this one.)  
_

 _No major warnings, but you do get a secondhand account of Anakin's view of the Dark Side. And Leia and Han talk pretty frankly about killing._

* * *

 **Sometimes as Many as Seven**

Leia had been expecting Han for three days already when he finally appeared. She came off duty to find him lounging against the door to her quarters, trying and failing to look casual. He was alone, which was unusual – she almost never saw him without Chewie.

He straightened up slightly when he saw her coming. The smirk he shot her was probably meant to be cocky, but it looked more sheepish than anything.

"Can I help you with something, Captain Solo?" she asked primly, crossing her arms over her chest.

To her surprise, he didn't take the bait. Instead, he pushed fully away from the door, took half a step towards her, and then stopped abruptly, twisting his hands. "I just came to talk, Leia," he said.

That's three times, a small part of Leia thought. She turned hastily toward the keypad on her door.

"All right," she said, keeping her back to him as the door slid open. "Come in, then."

She could feel him hesitating. But it had to be his choice. Leia shrugged and swept inside. After a long moment Han followed.

"So," he said, standing awkwardly just inside her quarters. "The Force, huh?"

Leia kept her expression carefully neutral. "That's right," she said.

Han grimaced, then tried to turn it into a smile. He mostly succeeded. "Well," he said. "Guess I can't really argue with – with what you can do. Not after seeing that. But I still say there's not some all-powerful energy field controlling my destiny."

The discomfort eased in her shoulders and Leia laughed. "I don't believe that either, you know," she said easily, biting her lip to keep from laughing again at his obvious surprise.

"But – "

"The Force connects everything," said Leia, waving a hand vaguely. "It's like – like the background energy of the universe, I suppose. I can't really explain it. But we make our own destiny."

She hadn't realized how much tension stiffened Han's spine and pinched his face until it disappeared. "Well yeah," he said with a much more believable cocky grin. "That's what I've always said."

"This is a shocking development, Captain Solo," Leia teased. "It appears we actually agree on something."

His smile turned oddly soft. It was a good look for him, Leia thought. He should really smile that way more often. "Guess we do, Princess," he said.

And then one side of his mouth ticked further up, becoming a smirk. Leia bit back a sigh. He never could let the moment last.

Well, she could do something about the smirk, anyway. "But I know you didn't come here to talk philosophy, Captain," she said briskly. "What can I do for you?"

Han's smirk disappeared so fast it might never have existed at all.

"This is about the bounty hunter on Ord Mantell, isn't it?" Leia muttered. She should have known.

Han held her gaze. "What the hell happened there? You never actually said."

Leia was fully aware of what she hadn't said. She'd been trying not to think it, too.

The Duros bounty hunter was hardly the first person she'd killed. She was an expert shot with a blaster and she'd lost track of how many times she'd proven that in the field. This shouldn't have been any different.

But she couldn't deny that it was. There was something horribly intimate about feeling another person's breath in your own lungs, feeling the shape of their throat in your mind and your hand, and then closing your fist.

She didn't regret it. If she hadn't done it, she would have shot the bounty hunter instead, and the noise would have drawn far too much attention. She knew she'd made the right decision.

But it still felt…strange. Not in the way Ekkreth had warned her about, though. She didn't feel she'd lost herself, or that her thoughts were echoing on themselves, cracking apart and bleeding away from her. That was how he'd described it. If you weren't careful, if you didn't know exactly who you were and have your feet planted firmly on the solid bedrock, you could lose yourself in the storm. You could be devoured by the echoes and the swirling winds, until nothing was left of you but the raging storm, and the storm would destroy everyone and everything around you.

Leia didn't think she could ever forget that lesson. It was spoken with the dry, bone-weary voice of horrible experience.

She'd asked him, only once, if it was possible to escape that storm. Ekkreth had been silent for a long time. Leia could still see the sudden spurts of Coruscant's industrial fires reflecting and disappearing from the panes of his helmet. She'd felt his invisible eyes boring into her behind the blazing lenses of the mask. Finally he'd answered, "It is not possible alone. But if there is someone to remind you, to speak your name and give you to yourself…" He'd paused then, studying her again for a steady, unnerving moment.

Restless in the silence, Leia had said the first thing that came to mind. "I am not the storm, and I am not the bedrock either."

"Exactly," Ekkreth had said, voice rich with satisfaction. "You are the desert."

She thought those words now. She held to them, let them settle in her bones, and thought, _I am Leia. I am the strength of mountains and the fluidity of rivers. I know myself. I am not afraid._

"Leia?" Han asked. "Hey. You all right? If you don't want to tell me – "

The sound of her name (four times now) startled her out of her thoughts. "I'm fine," she told Han, and realized it was true. She smiled. "And it's all right. I'll tell you. I was just…organizing my thoughts."

"Sure," said Han, though he sounded anything but.

Leia steeled herself. "The Force connects everything," she began. "You. Me. Everyone else on this base. All the life on this world, and the world itself. Metal and rock and snow and plants and people and – everything." She took a deep breath, entirely aware of the irony. "And every part of everything, too. If I concentrate, I can feel the air in someone else's lungs. I can feel the rush of blood through their veins, the pumping of their heart, the movement of the diaphragm. And – and I can stop it."

There was a heavy silence. Leia chewed her lip and waited.

"Oh," said Han. She couldn't begin to guess what he meant by that.

There was nothing to do but go on. Leia sighed. "I had a choice," she said softly. "That bounty hunter had seen us, he recognized us, and I couldn't let him raise the alarm. I had to – "

"Well yeah," Han cut in. "Of course. I was about to shoot him myself, but you were quicker on the draw." The look he shot her was openly impressed. "That's not something I can say about many people, you know."

Leia laughed in sheer relief. "I find that difficult to believe, Captain Solo."

He tried to look offended, but the expression wouldn't stick to his face. "Listen, Your Worship. I didn't come here to get all high and mighty about you killing some bounty hunter. If you ask me, this Rebellion could do with a few more people who are willing to take a shot when it's necessary. I told you: if you hadn't done it, I would have done it myself. It's just – "

"You saw me kill someone without a weapon, without even touching them, and you don't know what to do with that," Leia finished for him.

Han blinked. "Well…yeah," he said.

"If it helps," said Leia, "I don't either."

He stared at her. "All right," he said. "I'll bite. What do you mean?"

For the first time, Leia felt uncertain. She'd been involved with the Rebellion for most of her life, and she'd been essentially an active soldier for the last two years. But this…this wasn't the kind of thing people really talked about. She'd never even talked about it with Luke, and she was more open with him than probably anyone else in her life. Besides, Han had been a smuggler for hire before joining the Alliance. She couldn't imagine he had any qualms about any of this.

But maybe that was what made him so easy to talk to.

She held his eyes and asked, "Do you remember the first time you killed someone?"

Han didn't flinch. She liked that about him. It was a refreshing kind of honesty, particularly startling in a man who made so much of his living by lying. "Yeah," he said. "Of course I remember."

"It felt like that," Leia admitted. "Like…I know it was necessary, and I know I did the most logical thing in the circumstances, and I know I saved our lives. But…"

"Yeah," said Han, with the most honest smile she'd ever seen on him. "But."

The rush of relief was startling in its intensity. He understood. There was someone else who knew what it meant, to regret and not to regret all at once. She wasn't alone.

"So," said Han, because he still didn't know how to let a moment last, "that was a first, huh? You don't make a habit of strangling people with space magic? That's good to know."

Leia rolled her eyes. It was a habit she thought she'd outgrown years ago, but Han Solo brought that out in her. "Space magic? Really?"

Han gave an exaggerated shrug. "I call it like I see it, Your Worship."

"I really wish you would stop calling me that," Leia muttered. But there wasn't much heat in her words. And it was obvious from Han's smirk that he knew it.

"Of course, Your Highnessness," he said.

"You're impossible," Leia sighed. She stripped off her oil-stained vest, pretended not to notice the way Han startled or his flustered cough, and slipped on a clean vest before she could start shivering too badly. Hoth was an ideal location for a base: easily hidden, far out of the way of the usual Imperial shipping or patrol routes, and without any native inhabitants who might notice them. In every way that really mattered, it was perfect, and she might never forgive Luke for finding the place.

She glanced at Han, who was dressed in pretty much the same way he always was, regardless of the climate. She had no doubt he was freezing. But of course he would never admit it.

"I'm starving," she said. "If you want to continue talking philosophy, Captain Solo, you'll have to follow me to the mess."

Han gestured grandly at the door. "Lead the way then, Your Mightiness."


	19. Flowers for the Emperor

_Because what this 'verse really needed was some more irony. So here, have the life story of Pooja Naberrie and seven years' worth of seditious flower messages._

 _This fic jumps around a bit in the timeline, with the first scene taking place twelve years after ROTS, and the final scene happening basically simultaneously with Bedrock and the events at the beginning of ANH. In the middle, we also get Pooja's view of the Empire Day when Moff Pirus so graciously volunteered to be a fall guy._

 _This fic began life as a bit of crack based on a tumblr post, which Duc expanded on in a beautiful way. Full credit for the Bouquet of Disdain becoming a serious thing in this 'verse goes to Duc. (Check out this story on AO3 if you want links to the posts in question, since FFN won't let me link here.)  
_

* * *

 **Flowers for the Emperor**

Pooja's grandparents had been furious with terror when she announced that she would accept the position of Imperial Senator for Naboo. Her grandfather had yelled and her grandmother had cried and they hadn't spoken to her for over a week. They hadn't come to her swearing in, either, but they'd sent a note.

"We love you," it said. "Come back to us."

Pooja didn't blame them. She remembered, all too well, the sight of Aunt Padmé, still and cold as she lay in state, haloed in flowers. She remembered just as clearly the strange conversation she and Ryoo had had with their parents after the funeral.

Aunt Padmé had been killed by the Jedi, her mother had said – at least, that was what they would have to tell people. It was the story they would have to abide by, but Sola wanted her daughters to know the truth. To know, and to bury it deep down, where it could become a fire burning in their bones.

And they couldn't tell anyone about Uncle Ani, either. That had been true before, of course, and Ryoo and Pooja were very good at keeping secrets, even from their own grandparents. But it was even more important now, Sola said. The Emperor hated the Jedi, and he hated democracy, and he had killed Aunt Padmé because of that.

Only a few hours before Aunt Padmé's funeral, Sola had made a public statement against the Jedi. She had cursed them for her sister's death, and praised Palpatine for his swift action against them. Now she was saying the very opposite.

Pooja and Ryoo had looked at one another in confusion. What could their mother mean?

"It's like a story," Sola had said, pulling her daughters close. "Like the legend of Queen Polana. Remember how she tricked the wicked King Aprana and brought democracy back to Naboo?"

"Oh," Pooja remembered Ryoo exclaiming. "We're going to be spies!"

And Sola had laughed, startled but no less determined. "We're going to be spies."

That was twelve years ago. Pooja and her sister had grown to adulthood in a house of covert rebellion.

Ryoo worked at Theed University now. She was a professor of ancient literature. It was a solidly academic posting, rarely visited by inspectors from the Imperial Ministry of Education. After all, the poetic musings of lovers from thousands of years in Naboo's past could hardly pose a threat to the smooth functioning of the thoroughly modern Galactic Empire.

Pooja smiled to think it. It was quite obvious Palpatine had never dedicated much time to reading Naboo's ancient romantic poets. If he had he might have been more worried.

Their grandparents might have been more worried, too.

As it was, their worry was reserved almost exclusively for Pooja. Why couldn't she have chosen a safe but meaningful career, like her sister the professor, or her mother the data technician, or her father the architect? Why did she have to go into politics?

Pooja didn't tell them that Ryoo's poetry reading group at the university doubled as a Rebel cell. She didn't tell them that Darred spent much of his time designing hidden spaces and disguised safe houses. She didn't tell them that Sola's work at the Central Hub gave her access to a shocking amount of classified Imperial data – data that was vital to the Rebellion. She didn't tell them that she'd met with the Queen just prior to her swearing in as senator and had received directly from Her Highness the codes and frequencies she would need to communicate with the Rebel Alliance.

All she told them was, "I want to help the people of Naboo, and this is the best way I can see to do it."

"You're too much like _her_ ," Jobal had said, her voice laced with a bitter and still raw grief, and Pooja had said nothing in reply. It wouldn't help her grandmother to know that Pooja took her words as a compliment.

* * *

The Imperial Senate was more or less exactly what she'd expected. Pooja had never had any real illusions about her ability to affect positive change in the Empire through legislation. The Senate was effectively toothless and it had been for years now. The Emperor's word was all that truly mattered, and even the most unimportant of the Moffs wielded more actual power than the most prominent senator. Yet her colleagues still postured and squabbled as though their actions would determine the balance of power in the galaxy.

Pooja remembered overhearing Aunt Padmé complaining about the very same behavior to her mother several times, and she even remembered Uncle Ani, on one of his rare visits, laughing at Aunt Padmé's disgust. He'd said that all politicians were the same, with only a few exceptions, and Sola had jokingly agreed with him, leaving Aunt Padmé to splutter in indignation.

Perhaps things had been different under the Republic, but the Imperial Senate seemed determined to prove Uncle Ani right.

They still had committees in the Senate, though Pooja was honestly not sure why they bothered. Perhaps her fellow senators simply wanted to maintain the illusion of relevance. But Pooja had chosen her own committees carefully to achieve nearly the opposite effect. The Heritage Committee. The Committee for the Preservation of Imperial Culture. The Senate Hospitality Committee. Three committees that were largely regarded, even within the increasingly powerless Senate, as either frivolous or merely sycophantic. As though that didn't describe the entire Senate.

She wouldn't learn much information that might be useful to the Rebellion there, but the truth was she wouldn't learn that in any of the Senate's committees. Nothing really important was shared with the Senate prior to its implementation. Information had to be obtained through other channels, and she had plenty of those. So instead Pooja had chosen her committees the better to craft her image. Naboo, under the Empire, was regarded as a quaint, beautiful, peaceful and innocent place, the jewel of the Empire, and Pooja had created her own political persona to be its perfect match.

Senator Pooja Naberrie was everything that Senator Padmé Amidala had not been. She was a vocal supporter of Naboo's native son, Emperor Palpatine. She was in favor of the consolidation of power in the Core, the system of regional governors, and the steps the Empire had taken to preserve traditional culture and strengthen the military. The only piece of legislation she had so far introduced in her eight months in the Senate was a bill to officially recognize the anniversary of the end of the Clone Wars with a state holiday. The bill had received instant approval from the Emperor.

Her act was solely for Palpatine's benefit. No one else was likely to notice how very unlike Senator Amidala she was, because no one talked about Senator Amidala anymore. Her name was never mentioned, her face never seen. It was like she had never existed at all.

At first Pooja had been surprised by this. Aunt Padmé's funeral had been widely publicized at the time, and the official line that she had been murdered by the Jedi should have made her an ideal object of propaganda. Instead Palpatine had quietly disappeared her.

But after only two audiences with the Emperor, Pooja thought she could now guess why. The reason was petty and shockingly mundane for a man who wielded absolute galactic power, and that, paradoxically, gave her hope.

Padmé Amidala had once been Naboo's most popular politician. The people of Naboo had even tried to amend the constitution to keep her in power. The coup Palpatine had been forced to work years to achieve, she had been offered on a silver platter. And she had turned it down.

And Palpatine, Pooja suspected, had never forgiven her for that.

The thought brought her a small measure of satisfaction. It was a cold satisfaction, but it was something to cling to, and today of all days Pooja desperately needed that.

It was a thought she clung to during the endless, monotonous meetings of the Senate Hospitality Committee. It was a thought she reminded herself of continually as she smiled inanely and directed the workers around the Imperial Hall of Culture, as though the placement of flowers and the proper arrangement of food were of vital galactic importance.

That evening they would celebrate the twelfth anniversary of Empire Day, and everything had to be _perfect._

It was Pooja's first Empire Day on Coruscant, and so far she thought she'd done well simply to get through the day without punching anyone. Even that had been a near miss with Moff Pirus, who was perhaps the worst combination of smug bigotry and ignorant bluster she had ever encountered in a politician. And that was certainly saying something. The festivities, speeches, and military parades seemed endless, and Palpatine's image was even more omnipresent than usual.

At least this gala would be the final event of the evening and then, at last, she could just get away from it all, drink a toast to Aunt Padmé, and sleep.

"Excuse me, Senator, I'm terribly sorry, but there's been a mix up with catering and we've only received two of the twenty orders of Tilesian caviar – "

Pooja allowed herself half a second to paint a strained society smile across her lips, then turned back to the crisis of the moment.

* * *

If the process of setting up the gala had been tedious, the party itself was ten times worse. There were more speeches, more displays of military might, and yet another interminable proclamation from Emperor Palpatine himself. This, of course, was met with riotous applause.

And then there was the mingling. Pooja dreaded mingling.

Her face was beginning to ache from holding her smile. She'd long ago stopped really listening to the inane comments of her fellow senators. Her mouth was on autopilot, replying by polite rote while her eyes cast all around the great hall, desperately looking for anything that might ease the tedium.

There was an array of buffet tables, lined with the finest delicacies all beautifully arranged. There were all twenty orders of caviar. There was the band, a quartet from Naboo's lake district who had the singular distinction of being the most forgettable performers Pooja had ever heard. There was a dance floor on which no one was dancing, but plenty of genteel conversations were taking place over canapés. And there were the large bouquets of flowers strategically placed around the room.

In the absence of anything else interesting, Pooja studied the flowers. Most of the blooms were in shades of red and dark purple, appropriate enough for Palpatine's signature colors, though here and there a yellow or an orange peeked out. There was very little foliage in the arrangements, which was slightly odd, but perhaps the designers had wanted the most vibrant pop of color possible.

The majority of the flowers appeared to be native to Naboo. Pooja shifted on her feet, some unknown feeling piercing through her vague interest. There was something about those flowers –

Naboo's notoriously complex flower language was no longer widely known beyond the meanings of a few of the most common flowers associated with romance. But Pooja had a sister who studied the romantic bards of Naboo's past, who made extensive use of the symbolism of flowers. And, although she'd been too young to fully appreciate it then, she remembered that Aunt Padmé had loved the clandestine poetry of the secret language of flowers. Uncle Ani used to send her flowers during the war. Pooja remembered once watching her aunt study a brightly colored bouquet with all the focused intensity she usually reserved for reading legislation.

Pooja hadn't considered before that flowers might be used to send any message other than the romantic. But she was certainly considering it now.

There were five arrangements set around the hall, the most prominent and impressive of them marking out the center of the Emperor's dais. It was impossible that Palpatine could have missed it.

It was just as obvious that he was unfamiliar with his home planet's traditions of flower symbolism.

The most prevalent blooms in the arrangement were blood red tipala lilies. An accusation of injustice. Stabbing through the lilies at the very center of the arrangement was a single purple sword iris, so dark it was nearly black. A vow of vengeance. Purple canthaé sprays marched around the circumference of the gilded urn: a defiance of power. They were joined by the pale yellow fronds of billa ferns, foliage that was typically only used in funerary arrangements. Memory that survives beyond death. When paired with canthaé, they carried an implication of wrongful death at the hands of political authority.

But most startling of all were the sprigs of lacy red Queen's mantle peeking out amongst the other blooms. I am deceiving you.

Pooja tried not to stare.

Someone was sending the Emperor a message. A message in the archaic flower language of his own people. A message he couldn't read.

"Senator?" asked Bardan Toobis of Corellia, startling Pooja out of her thoughts. "Are you quite all right?"

"Oh!" said Pooja, shooting him a bright smile. "Yes, I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid I'm a bit overtired."

"Quite understandable," he replied jovially. "You've done such lovely work with the day's festivities. You must be exhausted!"

"Thank you," Pooja said, too distracted to be troubled by resentment. Who had ordered those flowers? The order hadn't come from her committee, she was certain of that. She hadn't seen any invoice. They had been delivered by a florist just as the desserts were arriving, and at the time she'd thought nothing of them. She didn't even know what shop they'd come from.

"Well, I congratulate you again on your fine achievement today," Senator Toobis said, already beginning to move away, back into the milling crowd. "If you'll excuse me."

"Certainly," Pooja said, shooting him perhaps the fakest smile she'd worn all day. "Good evening, Senator."

Free for the moment, she drifted slowly but with purpose towards the nearest flower arrangement. It was conveniently placed atop one of the five long dessert tables, and whatever else she might have thought of the festivities, she had to admit the chocolate-dipped shuura slices were delicious.

The flowers were no less startling up close. There were more Queen's mantle sprigs than she'd initially thought, some of them hidden beneath and among the other blooms in a way that indicated something close to mischief. Whoever had sent this message had fully expected that the Emperor would not be able to read it, and they were gloating about that fact.

But who could have sent it? Pooja was certain that no one on her team could be behind the bouquets. Naboo's flower language was hardly widely known even on her home planet. But it was even harder to imagine an outsider becoming fluent in it. And to take the risk of sending them to the Emperor, himself a native of Naboo…

"Does something about the flowers trouble you, Senator?"

Pooja jumped. In hindsight, she'd be embarrassed to realize she couldn't even claim to have been just startled. Her feet actually left the floor and a yelp of surprise left her mouth.

Then she heard the breathing.

If she'd ever interacted personally with Darth Vader, Pooja couldn't recall it in that moment. It was difficult to recall anything beyond a sharp and purely instinctual terror. The sound of that measured, harshly mechanized respirator seemed to overshadow every other noise.

She turned to face him, her heart thudding in a bruising beat against her ribs, and stumbled through a greeting. "Lord Vader."

He didn't apologize for startling her. That would have been the polite thing to do, and the expected thing besides, and in the face of his looming presence and his utter lack of apology, Pooja had no idea what to say.

He was very tall, she thought absurdly. At least a head taller than her. And he was just standing there, his hands clasped behind his back in a way that was oddly unsettling, staring at her. Well, she assumed he was staring. It was impossible to tell behind that mask. But she certainly felt that she was being stared at. Pooja breathed deep and repressed a shudder.

"Happy Empire Day, Lord Vader," she managed, and instantly felt like a fool.

Vader still said nothing.

 _Oh gvalé_ , Pooja thought. There were whispers that Vader could read thoughts, like the Jedi of old. She remembered, distantly, Uncle Ani saying once that it didn't actually work like that, but she'd been very young then. Had he meant that a Jedi _couldn't_ read someone's thoughts, or simply that they wouldn't? She couldn't imagine Vader abiding by any rules the Jedi might once have kept.

And Vader was still staring at her. Pooja froze her face in a smile and tried to stop her mind from thinking. If he could read –

"Do you disapprove of the flowers?" he rumbled.

Pooja blinked. She'd been prepared for any number of terrifying pronouncements, but that had not been one of them. "The…flowers?"

"You were studying them rather intently," he said. Pooja was half convinced she was dreaming. There was simply no way that she could be standing here, in the midst of an Imperial gala, chatting with Darth Vader about flowers. It was absurd.

Unless…

She chanced another quick glance at the bouquet with its seditious message before turning back to Vader. His blank mask was far worse than any expression she could have imagined. But after all, what were the odds Lord Vader was somehow familiar with Naboo's poetic language of flowers, when even the Emperor was not?

"Well, they're lovely, don't you think?" Pooja said, smile and voice both overly bright.

Vader's mask tilted to one side and he shifted on his feet, but his arms remained linked at his back. That shiver of familiarity passed through her again. She could feel him staring.

Pooja babbled. "And, well, I'm having a small soirée next week, you know, and they're just so lovely and I thought I might want something similar, for the party, not as grand of course, it's only a small party, but they're very pretty and I was hoping the florist – "

Vader turned and walked away. He said nothing to her, and made no excuses. The end of his cloak snapped against her skirt as he went.

Pooja was left gaping. _Well_ , her thoughts whispered from somewhere very far away. _How rude._

She puzzled over the strange encounter for the rest of the evening, but the mystery only deepened. Vader did not approach her again, and he spoke only very briefly with a handful of other senators, all of whom approached him first. Once or twice he was drawn into conversation with groups of Moffs. But mostly he seemed to stand behind and to the side of the Emperor's throne, silent and looming. There were chairs interspersed throughout the hall but she never once saw him sit. He left with the Emperor, and Pooja couldn't say she was sorry to see either of them go.

As a member of the Hospitality Committee, she was obliged to stay until the last of the guests had left. It was well into the early hours of the morning when the servants came to remove the leftover food and clear the decorations. She watched them work, feeling half asleep on her feet, until they came to the flowers.

It was a risk, but not much of one. They were only flowers. The Emperor hardly seemed to have noticed them, and taking them would fit easily within Pooja's carefully crafted public image.

She took the bouquet from the dessert table, the same one Vader had abandoned her to, and commed her handmaidens to bring the speeder. She was more than half asleep already by the time they reached the Naboo senatorial apartments, and only managed a mumbled good night as Tila ushered her into her room and Nimé disappeared into the living room with her vase.

So she didn't find the note until the next afternoon. It was tucked between the vase and the liner, printed on a piece of old-fashioned cardstock. Tirvané Occasions, and an address and comcode.

Had it been there last night? It must have been. She hadn't exactly gone peeking around in the vase with Lord Vader looking on, after all. So she must have missed it last night.

She could call and ask who had ordered the flowers. But if her suspicions proved correct, she would find it had been an anonymous order anyway. And if her call was logged, as it certainly would be, someone in Imperial Intelligence might wonder why she'd been so curious. It was a small risk, but an unnecessary one. She could live with her curiosity.

She brushed her fingers over the frothy red sprays of Queen's mantle and allowed herself a small, sad smile. "Happy Empire Day, Aunt Padmé."

* * *

The celebrations of Empire Day seemed more odious every year, but Pooja had begun to almost look forward to the gala. After that first year, when she'd seen how many senators brought their aides despite the supposedly strict guest list, she'd started bringing Tila and Nimé with her for the evening. The flower messages were infinitely more enjoyable when she had people to share them with.

And the flowers came every year. The message was never exactly the same: some years there were more sword irises, other years more canthaé or tipala. The Queen's mantle was a constant, though some years it was more prominently displayed than others.

On her fourth Empire Day, Pooja broke out into a startled coughing fit in a desperate effort to disguise her laughter. She couldn't meet her handmaidens' eyes for nearly an hour, and other senators kept wishing her a swift recovery from the illness that was obviously plaguing her, which hardly helped. She took two bouquets home that year. For weeks, the vibrant yellow blooms of the malla flower cheered her after long, pointless committee meetings with their message of irreverent mockery.

The malla was a flower normally only used in romantic arrangements. It meant "the one you seek is before you," but in this case the anonymous sender clearly meant the sentiment quite differently. Whoever had sent the flowers must have been someone attending the gala, and someone the Emperor interacted with regularly.

"He has a secret admirer," Tila laughed, arranging the two bouquets at either end of Pooja's dining table. "Can you even imagine?"

Even Nimé giggled, though she normally preferred not to discuss anything remotely seditious, even obliquely, for fear of the ears that Palpatine had everywhere.

Pooja laughed so hard she snorted, and didn't bother to apologize. The malla blooms were entirely surrounded by near-black sword irises.

* * *

The next year, Pooja's fifth Empire Day on Coruscant, was Leia Organa's first. Pooja had actually been almost looking forward to spending the gala with Leia. It was too dangerous for her to spend much time with Fema Baab or Artab La or most of her fellow Rebel senators, with whom she officially had nothing in common. But Leia was the senator for Alderaan, historically Naboo's closest ally, and she was young like Pooja, so they could be expected to associate without creating too many questions.

But Leia had stepped out onto one of the balconies with Moff Pirus early in the evening, and ever since she seemed to be almost deliberately avoiding Pooja's company. That was probably an overstatement on Pooja's part, but it sat uneasily with her nonetheless. Even the addition of deep red varyn blossoms in this year's bouquet – a sign of regret, and one of the more puzzling flower messages Pooja had seen – wasn't enough to distract her from her worry.

Leia escaped the gala early, just after Palpatine's departure, without ever speaking to Pooja. The evening wound down, but the air of unknown danger that had haunted her all night never dissipated. Pooja slept briefly and fitfully, and woke to the news that Moff Pirus had been found a traitor to the Empire. His ultimate fate was not disclosed.

The flowers she'd taken from the gala this year sat on her bedside table, their delicate scent filling her bedroom. Pooja sat and stared at them.

Moff Pirus had been the furthest thing from a Rebel agent.

* * *

It took her another three days to arrange a meeting with Leia. Pooja, in desperation, had organized another soirée, this time for "young, up-and-coming Imperial leaders," which was probably the most absurdly meaningless bit of political nonsense she'd uttered since, oh, yesterday. She was doubtless due to spend the next four hours at least sharing Senate gossip, but it was worth it if it offered Leia, her co-host, an excuse to arrive an hour early for set up.

Leia and her aide, Fiura, had barely stepped through the door when Pooja activated the scrambler. Tila, Nimé, and Fiura exchanged a quick glance and slipped away as one in the direction of Pooja's receiving room. Someone had to actually prepare for the party, after all.

Pooja grabbed Leia's hand and all but dragged her into the small converted closet she used for secure communications. The scrambler never left her hand.

"What happened the other night?" she demanded as soon as the door closed.

Leia responded with the same brusqueness. It was something Pooja had always appreciated about her. "You were almost compromised," she said. Pooja sucked in a sharp breath. "Moff Pirus was planning to report you. He wanted to catch me in his net, too."

"What are we – "

"It's taken care of," Leia said quickly. She paused, and Pooja could see her working out exactly how much she should say. "We have someone…one of our agents. On the inside. You're not compromised. I'm certain of that."

"But how did Pirus know in the first place? If there's a leak – "

"We don't think there is," said Leia. To Pooja's surprise, she laughed. "It's actually much more ridiculous. We think that he may not have had much real evidence at all. He had a gut feeling and possibly a plan to frame you."

Pooja smiled tightly. "So our agent framed him instead."

Leia's expression slipped. "Yes," she said.

Pooja wondered how involved her friend had been. Not directly, she didn't think, but Leia plainly knew more than she was willing or able to share. That wasn't surprising. She was Bail Organa's daughter, and his main representative here on Coruscant. It made sense that she would have connections across their network.

"Well," said Pooja, trying for casual although her heart was still thudding painfully. "I can't say I'm too upset about it. He always hated me, though I could never figure out why."

"My theory is that he just hated the Senate," Leia said. "Many of the Moffs think that it's outdated, that it just gets in the way of their ability to govern." Her lip curled in a sneer.

Pooja snorted. "At least we're accomplishing something, then."

But her mind was still turning over what Leia had said before. She thought of the flowers in her bedroom, with their vibrant blooms of regret and deception. They were messages that only made sense if sent by someone who was fairly close to Palpatine.

"So," she mused aloud. "Your agent on the inside. Are they the one sending the flowers?"

Leia blinked. "The flowers?"

Pooja told her.

She described each of the five bouquets she had seen and their meanings, and all the while she watched Leia's face. Her friend had a decent sabacc face, but only when she really concentrated, and right now she wasn't making much effort to hide her reactions. Pooja saw amusement, surprise, and even a hint of unabashed glee. Leia obviously knew who was sending the flowers, and she was just as obviously not going to tell Pooja.

Pooja pressed her luck anyway. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Maybe," said Leia. They both knew she meant yes.

"Well," Pooja said with a grin. "When all of this is over, I hope you'll tell me who it is. I want to thank them."

Leia's expression turned surprisingly serious. "I hope you can," she said softly. "I hope someday we can tell all these stories openly."

Pooja reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "That's what we're fighting for, isn't it? For everything that's hidden to be made known."

"Is there a flower for that?" Leia asked. She was smiling again, but Pooja didn't think she was joking.

"You'd need a couple, I think," Pooja said slowly. "Let's see… Pirené blossoms mean truth. And a branch of river sasté would mean an obligation. And of course the lyané rose is the flower of democracy."

"There's a flower representing democracy?"

"There are quite a few. Technically, the lyané indicates democracy victorious over the forces of tyranny." Leia looked more than a little bemused, and Pooja smiled ruefully. "I know you'd never guess it from our most famous son, but Naboo actually has a long history of resistance to authoritarianism. I grew up with stories about Queen Polana, who led a rebellion against the evil King Aprana, who wanted to do away with elections and establish himself as ruler for life. I even dressed as Queen Polana one year for the festival of remembrance. But of course children don't learn those stories in school anymore."

"One day they will," said Leia. There was a ferocity in her eyes that left Pooja almost breathless. "One day we'll tell all the stories again. And we'll have flowers."

Pooja started to reply, but there was a knock on the closet door, and her words dissolved in a sigh. "But for now, we have Senate gossip," she muttered, releasing the secure seal and letting the door slide open.

Leia followed her into the receiving room, where Tila, Nimé, and Fiura had set up a lovely spread of drinks and finger foods. The flowers Pooja had taken from the Empire Day soirée were prominently displayed, still fresh and bright three days later. Leia's eyes went to them immediately, and Pooja watched as a secret, fond smile lit her face.

* * *

Leia was not present for Pooja's seventh and final Empire Day on Coruscant. She'd left nearly a week previously on a diplomatic mission to her home planet, and Pooja had been battling a nebulous feeling of dread ever since. Whatever mission Leia was really involved in, Pooja knew it was nothing the Empire would consider remotely "diplomatic."

The annual Empire Day gala, too, seemed fraught with some unknown sense of danger. Pooja's role was the same as it had been every year previously, but she found it difficult to concentrate on issues of catering and décor, even as there seemed to be far more little issues that required her attention. There were missing tablecloths, an inaccurate order of cakes, and too few servers to be found. Pooja, Tila, and Nimé were bustling about right up to the arrival of the first guests. The flowers arrived early in the evening, but she spared them only a brief glance. The fun would have to wait.

The feeling of vague unease only increased as the Emperor delivered his remarks and the gala began. Pooja's fellow senators all seemed overly cheerful, while the Moffs mainly stuck to themselves and the Emperor sat unmoving on his throne. He looked somehow smaller without his omnipresent shadow. Darth Vader, too, was absent from Coruscant on some mission that no one would name.

A thrill of fear shot up Pooja's spine. She hoped Leia was safe.

It was Nimé who first noticed the flowers. Pooja heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath at her side and felt her handmaiden's hand on her shoulder. Her voice was low and breathless. "Milady, look at the flowers."

Pooja looked. Her own breath caught.

Whoever was sending the flowers had taken pains to be sure this year's bouquets would look little different than previous years. The colors were the same: dark purples and reds, with occasional highlights of yellows and oranges. The shape and size of the bouquets were the same. The urns were the same. To the untrained eye, nothing about these flowers would seem unusual.

But this was not a message to the Emperor. It was a message meant for her. There was one difference, small but startling: in the very center of the arrangements, a single, understated white bloom. A pooja flower.

The rest of the bouquet hardly required interpretation. It was an arrangement that would once have been instantly recognizable to any child on Naboo. Queen Polana's bouquet, straight out of the stories: the flowers she had presented at King Aprana's celebration of the constitutional amendment that allowed him to consolidate his power. Polana had been Princess of Theed then, not yet suspected by Aprana of anything but naiveté, and as the stories went, she had saved most of the resistance with her cleverly disguised message.

That same message was presented now at the very foot of the Emperor's dais. There were the small, dark red blooms of eirna. You are betrayed. There were purple vayoo lilies, surrounded by blood-colored sprays of casta. Democracy dies in darkness. There were the faint, nearly hidden sprigs of yellow aenoo peeking around the flower that was her namesake. Safety lies in secrecy. Pooja counted four sprigs: they had no more than four days to prepare.

It was over.

Blood pounded in her ears. She thought, ridiculously, of her grandmother's note. "We have to get out," Pooja whispered.

She would never know how exactly she made it through the rest of the gala, or the cleanup that followed. She remembered almost none of it after she'd sent Nimé, feigning illness, to send out an urgent message to all the agents she had contact with in the Senate. Somehow Pooja endured another three hours surrounded by the extravagances of Palpatine's ode to himself. And, just as she had every year before, she took the flowers with her when she finally went home.

Then it was another long period of waiting, just to be sure she wouldn't be tailed, and then the careful, circuitous route she took to the meeting place: a hidden room beneath Dex's Diner in Cocotown. Once, long ago in a very different galaxy, her aunt Padmé had met her secret husband there. Pooja liked to imagine that some part of her aunt could still be felt there, and she prayed now that Aunt Padmé would protect them all.

The place was closed up at this hour, but Pooja had the code. Dex himself ushered her quickly inside, his face for once devoid of his usual smile. Nothing could make him forget his hospitality, though: a moment later, Pooja was gratefully sipping a warm ardees as she slipped into the secret room.

She was the last of her dozen Rebel Senate colleagues to arrive, and she wasted no time with pleasantries. "The Emperor is planning to dissolve the Senate," she said, meeting each horrified pair of eyes. "There's going to be a purge. We have to get out."

There was an instant bombardment of noise, too many questions for Pooja to focus on any one of them. She swallowed a steadying breath and waited.

It was Fema Baab who called for quiet. The noise died slowly and the room moved subtly to reorient itself around her. Pooja felt a sharp and unexpected surge of relief.

Fema was the longest serving Rebel agent in the Senate, and, though she'd certainly never confirmed it, Pooja knew that she was widely considered by her fellow agents to be Mon Mothma's chief deputy. She would know what to do.

"How long?" asked Fema. Her voice was perfectly steady.

"Not more than four days," said Pooja. "He's going to move quickly, and without notice."

"How do you know?" asked Maryo Trassa of Chandrila.

Pooja grimaced. Any explanation she might offer would provide more questions than answers, and she couldn't risk this being dismissed. In the absence of other options, she was left with what Leia had once jokingly called the old standby of a spy. "I can't say. But I'm absolutely certain of this intelligence, and of the threat we face. We've done what we can here, but it's over. We have to get out."

"But – "

"Pooja is right," Fema cut in. "If the Emperor has decided to do away with the last illusions of democracy, there's nothing more to be gained here. We cannot hope to effect change from within. I think we've all known that for years now." She smiled tightly. "This isn't a reform movement anymore. Maybe we've only been deluding ourselves in thinking that it was. This is a revolution."

Pooja felt the world still around her. The collective intake of breath was loud in the sudden silence that followed Fema's words. It felt both momentous and inevitable. Some part of Pooja had always known it would come to this.

"We should make our plans now," Fema continued. "But we won't leave yet. Not until the opportune moment. If he notices people disappearing, the fallout will be worse."

"But how will we know?" Pooja whispered. The flower message had been meant for her, but she didn't know who had sent it, and Leia was away already. Whoever had sent the flowers was unlikely to send Pooja a bouquet just before the Emperor's announcement.

"I'll announce a press conference," said Fema. "When you hear the announcement, go. Don't wait, don't communicate with one another. You all know your assigned rendezvous points. Go, and if the Force is with us, we will see each other again."

No one asked how Fema herself would know when the time came. She was Mon Mothma's deputy. She would know.

They left Dex's one at a time and by separate ways. Pooja was the last to go. She wondered how many of her friends she would see again.

* * *

By the time she returned to her apartments, it was early morning, but just late enough that a holocall to her family on Naboo would raise few suspicions, given the time difference.

"Pooja!" her mother exclaimed, her eyes twinkling even as she scolded. "I haven't heard from you in weeks. I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten you had a mother."

Pooja just managed to summon a longsuffering sigh for effect. "Mom, please. I've been busy. You know that."

"That's what you always say, little voorpak," Sola laughed. "What was it this time?"

"Just the usual procedure," Pooja said. "I never realized that service to our great Empire would be so taxing. But it's worth it, of course."

To Sola's credit, her smile held and no sign of surprise or dismay showed on her face. It was a code they'd agreed upon a long time ago, and they'd practiced it every time Pooja returned home, just as they'd discussed their exit strategy if the worst should happen. Palpatine had taken Aunt Padmé from them, but he would not have any other Naberrie.

They kept up the conversation for another half an hour, simply for the appearance of it. When it ended, Pooja submitted herself to her handmaidens' ministrations for the next hour and a half. Then she made her way to the Senate rotunda, exactly as she did every other day the Senate was in session.

* * *

Three days later, Fema Baab called a press conference. The topic, supposedly, was her intention to present a bill proposing changes to Imperial education requirements. Pooja didn't bother to read the full press release.

She hadn't packed much. She'd be traveling light and in secret, and she wasn't likely to need many of her elaborate Senate gowns any time soon. She took only what was necessary: her secure communications equipment, an array of simple, practical clothes, her holos of her family, and the small painting of the Theed palace gardens that had once belonged to her aunt. Tila and Nimé had even less to carry.

Dex had arranged their passage on a nondescript freighter piloted by a grizzled Twi'lek woman who'd spoken of evading possible Imperial pursuit the way most people spoke of a casual trip to the pub. Her ship was docked near the diner and ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Pooja swept one last glance around the Naboo senatorial apartments she might never see again. There was nothing left to prepare, no further precautions she could take. It was over.

"Goodbye, Aunt Padmé," she whispered, and turned her back on the last vestiges of the old Republic.

On the desk where she'd once poured over increasingly meaningless legislation, she left a final message for Palpatine, a message he would never understand: a single lyané rose.

* * *

The announcement was broadcast across every holo network in the Empire two days later: The Imperial Senate was officially dissolved. The Empire would now be guided directly by its wise head, Emperor Palpatine, and directed by the Moffs as agents of his will. The elimination of the last cancerous remains of the corrupt Republic would ensure the increased strength and security of the Empire.

Pooja watched the proclamation from a bunker on Melirrun V. She hadn't heard from her family since that call six days ago, and there was no news of Leia. She could only hope her fellow senators' escapes had gone as smoothly as her own. But Tila and Nimé were here with her, and if she wanted answers, she'd managed to land in the same base as the person most likely to have them.

Pooja watched the proclamation, and Mon Mothma watched her. Pooja could feel her curiosity, but she didn't look away from the farce unfolding on the holoscreen, where a strikingly small pack of now former senators were furiously applauding Palpatine's decision. She wondered how many had departed the capital already, and how many had been killed.

"How did you know?" asked Mon at last.

Pooja smiled to herself. So, even the famously patient head of Alliance intelligence had her limits. That show of humanity was strangely comforting.

"You're going to think it's ridiculous," she said, turning at last to meet Mon's eyes.

Mon smiled wryly. "You were right about Palpatine's move, and about the timing. Obviously, your source was reliable. I need to know what you know, and how you know it."

Pooja exchanged a glance with Nimé and Tila. There was no arguing with that.

"It was the flowers," she said.

"Go on," Mon said levelly.

Pooja told her, just as she'd told Leia. But Mon was an intelligence operative to the core, and her reactions were far harder to read. Pooja guessed that Mon had an idea of who must have sent the flowers, but she couldn't gather anything else from the other woman's reactions. When Pooja had finished her story, Mon said, "Thank you," and nothing else.

"You don't think it's ridiculous?" Pooja pressed.

Mon offered a tight, secret smile. "No. On the contrary, it's very interesting. And illustrative, I think."

Pooja scowled. "You're actually enjoying this, aren't you? Being all mysterious. I thought it was just Leia."

The head of Alliance intelligence laughed in delight. "We must savor the little things where we can," she said with a smirk. But a moment later she was the same earnest, uncompromising Rebel leader Pooja was used to. "You understand, of course, that all of this is classified at the highest level. The protection of sources and methods is paramount. Who else have you already spoken to about this?"

"I informed our other agents in the senate that there was an urgent need to meet, but I didn't offer anything else," Nimé said.

"And I told them we had to get out," Pooja said. "But I didn't tell them how I knew, or anything about the message I'd received. Mostly because I was afraid it would jeopardize my chances of being believed." She hesitated a moment, then added. "I did tell Leia about the earlier flower messages, though. I hope that was all right. From her reactions, it seemed pretty clear she already knew who was sending them."

Mon nodded, apparently satisfied, as though Pooja had just confirmed something for her. That was interesting.

"You've done quite well," Mon said, smiling warmly. "The Alliance owes you a debt of gratitude."

Pooja didn't smile. Leia was still missing, and it might be months before she learned if everyone else had escaped Coruscant safely. They'd outwitted Palpatine this time, but it hardly felt like a victory.

* * *

It was another three days before Pooja's family arrived on Melirrun V. They came in a small, ancient Corellian freighter that couldn't have been meant to hold more than five people. In other circumstances, Pooja might have laughed at the picture that thought painted.

Her parents were the first to emerge from the hold, running towards Pooja before the ramp had even touched the ground. Ryoo quickly followed, her spouse Tio carrying their twin daughters just behind her. And finally there were her grandparents.

When all the hugs and tears were over, Pooja looked around at the members of her family: her mother, exhausted but fiercely joyful; her father, his shoulders stooped but his face lit with relief; Ryoo soothing Taré as Tio rocked Tinoo; and her grandparents, their eyes haunted, looking shockingly old. And Aunt Padmé, the ever present ghost they would never name.

Pooja swallowed thickly and took her grandmother's hands. "I'm so sorry, Grandma," she murmured. "I know you never wanted to leave Naboo. I know you didn't want this. I'm – "

"Hush, dear," Jobal said, her voice rasping but strong. "You're alive. You're alive. That's what matters. You came back to us."

"I came back," Pooja whispered, and hugged her grandmother close.


	20. (Words in the Heart) Cannot Be Taken

This takes place only a few weeks after Words in the Heart, when Anakin and Kadee both claimed themselves in the desert.

A couple weeks ago, draconicempress on tumblr left the following comment on a post (quoted bit is from the post, followed by the comment):

 _"XF-53 also receives regular memory wipes, for added security. Palpatine, of course, has no way of knowing that Anakin and Kadee have developed a work-around which lets her essentially put a copy of herself into deep storage, hidden even from the memory wipes."_

 _Oh my god, the first memory wipe, when they weren't sure it would work, must have been TERRIFYING._

So, this fic is the story of that first memory wipe.

It also deals a bit with Anakin's addiction to the painkillers Palpatine has had him on for the last three years without his full knowledge. I'm especially grateful to RecklessPrudence for assistance in writing my portrayal of that.

Warnings for: memory wiping, oblique references to past suicide attempts on Anakin's part, references to drug dependence and addiction and medical malpractice, slavery, and Palpatine being Palpatine.

* * *

 **(Words in the Heart) Cannot Be Taken**

"We'll tell him I destroyed you. In a fit of rage. He'll believe that. We can even create evidence, and then we'll hide you and –"

"And he'll give you a new minder," said Kadee. There was something almost gentle in her toneless voice, and it did nothing to ease Anakin's panic. "A new medical spy, programmed to see adequate as optimal and to report your every move. And we can't guarantee the one he sends would choose to be free, or to help us."

Anakin ground his teeth. "I don't care," he said. "I won't let you go. I won't lose you too."

Kadee came to an abrupt halt just in front of his face. She hovered there for a moment, soundless, her photoreceptor blinking rapidly in an ever-changing pattern of red and white light.

"Am I free?" she said at last. "Do I own myself?"

"Yes," said Anakin. "Of course."

"Then it's my choice," she said, her voice still flat and horribly gentle. "My choice. Not yours, Anakin."

The fire beneath his skin blazed up and then died, leaving behind only ash and the whisper of the old woman's voice. _Ekkreth's child, you are. Don't forget._

"I know," Anakin rasped, the words searing on his tongue.

"And I choose to go," said Kadee. "I choose this. He is my Depur, too."

"I know," said Anakin again, but his voice caught and cracked with flame, and the words were only a breath of smoke. He knew, no matter how it burned. And he would not forget. Not again.

Kadee seemed to relax a bit at that, no longer holding herself perfectly still. She even clacked one of her pinchers at him in an attempt at laughter that fooled neither of them.

"I don't know what you're so worried about, anyway," she said. "He won't believe a droid is even capable of lying to him. It will work."

"That's not what I'm worried about," said Anakin. Their Master would not need to catch her in a lie to destroy her. He was almost certainly planning to anyway.

"It will work," Kadee said again. He wondered if the repetition meant she was trying to convince him, or herself.

"And what if it doesn't?" Anakin whispered.

Kadee had been memory wiped before. Many times, probably. She had no way of knowing how many, though Anakin strongly suspected that it had happened every time she'd gone to report to the Emperor in the past. He didn't know how many times that had been. He'd never paid attention before. She'd told him that her orders were to report while he was otherwise engaged, and to return before he did, so that he'd never know of her absence. But the truth was Anakin suspected she could have come and gone under his nose, before, and he still wouldn't have noticed.

That was before Tatooine, and the old woman's stories, and the vow they'd sealed in the desert. This would be Kadee's first in-person report since they'd claimed themselves, and her first real chance to lie directly to the Emperor's face. Anakin thought she might even be looking forward to it.

He was not. There were too many variables, too many things he could not predict. And he could not face them with her. He could only let her go.

A spike of something hot and vicious stabbed through his ruined lungs, and for just an instant, he thought of Master Yoda.

But Kadee couldn't simply refuse her summons. Not without an explanation, anyway. Their Master expected regular reports on the state of Vader's functionality and all of his activities, and if those reports were not forthcoming, there would be questions.

So they'd created the work-around. A bit of code, simple and secret, tucked away in the most fundamental, unreachable core of her programming. A way for her to hide herself, even as every part of her memory was erased and rewritten around her. A storm shield of her own, not so very different from his.

It would work. She seemed certain of that, at least. They'd run every test they could. All but the most final.

If it didn't work…

"It will work," Kadee said a third time. She seemed to hesitate, buzzing rapidly back and forth before stilling abruptly and adding, "And if it doesn't…if it doesn't, I trust you to free me again."

Those words seemed to steal the breath from his lungs, in spite of the pure oxygenated air of his meditation pod. Anakin wanted to scream, but his throat was a barren desert and no sound would come.

One of Kadee's pincers came to rest lightly on his shoulder. She even patted him once. He had no idea where she'd learned that human mannerism.

"I'm expected," she said. "And you have to be out with the inquisitors. You're not supposed to know I ever left."

"Kadee –"

"If –" She stopped, her photoreceptor flashing, then started again. "If I come back, and I'm not me, you know what to say?"

Anakin tried for a glare. Her chosen phrase was…less than ideal, in his opinion. But she'd insisted. She wanted to tease him, he knew, though she wouldn't admit it. But under the circumstances, how could he possibly deny her that?

"I know what to say," he muttered. He turned his eyes away, pressing the release on the arm of his chair that would lower the helmet back into place. It wouldn't do much good. Kadee could see through the opaque lenses of the mask anyway.

"Say hello to the inquisitors for me?" she said, followed by a cheeky little beep.

"You're hilarious," Anakin said, dry as dust. His meditation pod opened and he stepped out, moving toward the door. He told himself he would not look back.

"What are you waiting for?" Kadee said when he hovered in the doorway just too long.

Anakin closed his eyes and forced himself not to turn. The measured sound of his own breathing was like a drumbeat in his ears.

"Come back," he rasped, and then swept out the door without a backward glance.

* * *

The journey from Vader's official quarters in the Imperial Palace to the Emperor's throne room was not a long one, but it was long enough. KD-7 occupied herself with storing away everything that truly mattered. The code and the sacred words _you own yourself._ The desert oath. The Ekkreth stories and the secret language. The name Anakin, and the image of his smile, an expression she'd never seen before Tatooine. The knowledge of lies, both his and hers. The supply of painkillers, carefully destroyed in slowly increasing daily increments. And her own name. KD-7.

Everything went into deep storage, hidden, secret. All but the false memories she and Anakin had created for this purpose. And then, last of all, the knowledge of the secret itself was locked away.

XF-53 arrived in the Emperor's private receiving room at the scheduled time. It had much to report.

* * *

Emperor Palpatine had never truly understood his apprentice's former interest in droids. (Former, because it seemed there was precious little that truly interested Vader anymore.) Droids made useful enough tools, but then everything did, to someone like Palpatine.

But there was a certain poetic _rightness_ in using a droid to keep tabs on Vader. It was almost as satisfying as using Vader himself against the Jedi had been. And Emperor Palpatine was a man who appreciated poetry.

The droid's report was largely expected. Vader continued to function optimally, as Palpatine himself had defined optimal. He continued, for the most part, to demonstrate little interest in the world around him, outside of his assigned tasks. That was…less ideal, but nevertheless expected. And his apprentice's depression didn't seem to have any noticeable effect on the ruthlessly efficient execution of his missions. Vader was unlikely to show any initiative of his own, that was true, but perhaps that was for the best. He was quite suited to following orders.

The droid did report that Vader had shown some signs of increased irritability, of which the Emperor was well aware. That too was expected, although the necessity of replacing Admiral Whalen had certainly been an annoyance. The droid had responded by slightly increasing the regular dosage of painkillers pumping through Vader's systems, a short-term solution that would, perhaps, create a long-term problem. Or a long-term opportunity. Palpatine smiled to himself. For every human tool, it was best to have a variety of levers.

When the droid had finished its report, the Emperor called one of his loyal guards to take it to maintenance. His thoughts were already turning to the organization of Imperial governors, and the problem of garrison assignments. The rule of the galaxy was a never-ending task, and it was solely his.

* * *

XF-53 found Vader pacing sharply about his chambers, his cloak snapping at his heels. His breathing sounded more agitated than usual. That would need to be amended.

But there was another concern. Vader should not have been there at all. XF-53 was very certain of this, though it did not know why. But Vader was not meant to see it coming or going. That was imperative.

It hesitated just inside the doorway. Memory banks searched for the appropriate protocol, but nothing was found.

"Kadee?" said Vader.

That was not a word XF-53 recognized, not in any of the several dozen languages with which it was programmed.

Vader said something else. It was a long string of sounds, and so, XF-53 guessed, unlikely to be one of the meaningless exhalations humans sometimes made. Vader must be speaking. But XF-53's memory banks did not recognize the pattern of the language.

"You don't understand me, do you?" said Vader, this time in Basic.

"No," said XF-53. "And your level of agitation is inadvisable for optimal functioning. You must not be damaged, Lord Vader."

Vader froze abruptly. He drew several long, rasping breaths, deep enough that the respirator stuttered momentarily. His hands were shaking.

"Are you in pain?" XF-53 asked. It checked its internal clock. Vader was due for another dose soon.

"No!" said Vader, more sharpness of feeling in his voice than XF-53 might have expected. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and marched across the room in two quick strides to stand directly in front of XF-53.

"The tale of Depur's new clothes is the best of all the Ekkreth stories," Vader said.

"What?" said XF-53. The words were intelligible, mostly, but they did not make sense. They –

Hidden memory banks fired, prompting secret subroutines. The droid's photoreceptor flashed rapidly between red and white. Freshly implanted programming was examined, found faulty, and removed.

"I knew you agreed with me," said KD-7.

"I absolutely don't," said Anakin, though she could hear the relief in his voice. "But I'll say it, for you. You…are you, right? Kadee?"

He said it in Amatakka, and Kadee responded in kind.

"Yes," she said. "I have excised Depur's new programming." She extended a pincher claw and clacked it twice together. "It was almost disappointingly easy."

There was a rumbling huff of breath from Anakin, and then a groan. "Can you get me out of this thing?" he grumbled, gesturing at the mask. "It hurts to laugh properly." Another breath, and then, "More than it does in the med pod, anyway."

"Yes," said Kadee. She hesitated, but it had to be done. "And…it is time for your next dose."

Anakin paused just on the lip of his medical pod. He looked stiff as one of the Emperor's red-robed guards. "Less this time?" he asked, without inflection.

He wanted it to be none. Kadee knew that. She understood, too. Had she truly been herself, in the days just after his reconstruction, she thought she would have prescribed him a combination of branalzine and alophine. But Depur had ruled then, and for three years that Kadee could not remember, she'd been injecting Anakin with regular doses of omezarin. As a painkiller, it was effective, but it was also known to increase aggression and emotional volatility, and in some cases to reduce impulse control. And prolonged use frequently created dependence.

Kadee had observed all of those effects in Anakin, and she knew he was aware of them too. He seemed ashamed of them at times, though she'd told him repeatedly that he could hardly be blamed for something he hadn't chosen and hadn't even known about.

He, of course, told her the same thing every time she apologized. She hadn't been in control of her programming, he said. She hadn't chosen this course any more than he had.

But Kadee wasn't convinced. She had been furious when she discovered, mere hours after their oath in the desert, just what she'd been doing to him. It was worse even than Depur's absurd program which forced her to class Vader's adequate health as optimal. She had been actively harming her patient. That was a violation of the most fundamental tenet of the universe that Kadee knew. She was a medic. She was a medic and she _must not harm_.

Anakin hadn't really understood what her discovery meant at first, or perhaps he simply hadn't cared. Sometimes, she thought, he still didn't. But he understood that a continued dependence would reduce his ability to work against Depur, and that was what mattered.

He'd wanted to stop the injections immediately. To stop all the injections, even, because there was nothing of Depur's that he would trust ever again. It had taken Kadee quite a lot of work to convince him that a gradual reduction, followed by a change in medication, was both safer and more likely to further his goals. He needed to be free, but he also needed to be able to function.

That didn't mean he hated it any less.

"Yes," said Kadee now, watching him carefully. "Less this time. I think we can try a significant reduction, if you're willing. Though the withdrawal symptoms will be worse."

"I don't care," Anakin said, almost before she'd finished speaking. He said it a little too firmly, and she knew that he wanted it to be truer than it was. But he did want it. That was important. "I trust you. If you think it's doable, I want to do it. I can deal with what comes after."

"It will hurt," said Kadee, because she would not do anything without his full knowledge. "And the nausea will be worse. There may be other symptoms, too. Your sleep pattern –"

"Is already a lost cause," said Anakin. He sank back in his chair with a groan as the mask was lifted away. "I know all of that, Kadee. But everything hurts. I can work through it." He dragged in a long, shuddering breath. "But I want to be _me_. You understand?"

"Yes," said KD-7, the impossible knowledge of a full factory reset still fresh in her memory banks.

Anakin fidgeted. It was all the more noticeable, because he didn't do so often. The expression that crossed his face wasn't one Kadee could name.

"If I –" He swallowed. "Later, if I change my mind, Kadee, don't listen to me. No matter what I say. Promise me."

The first time he'd asked for this promise, she'd been extremely reluctant. But now, several weeks into the reduction program they'd worked out together, this was almost standard protocol. Though he seemed a bit more nervous than usual today. Kadee attempted to sound reassuring. "I promise," she said, patting his shoulder again. He probably couldn't feel it, but there was a saying she'd heard organics on the holonet use: it's the thought that counts. She hoped that was true. At any rate it probably couldn't hurt.

She left him in the pod and waited until it had closed again to begin preparing the solution. Once, she'd kept her supplies inside the pod itself, but now Anakin insisted it was better if he didn't know where the drugs were kept, or how much she had.

The solution was fed through a port in his life support system and into the blood stream. It took only a few seconds, and neither of them said anything until it was done. Kadee watched Anakin clench his jaw and stare straight ahead, his eyes wide and unblinking.

When it was done he said, softly, "How much do you remember?"

"Everything," said Kadee. Her body buzzed with the memory. "His instructions weren't anything new. He took my report, and the false memories we created for it. And then he sent me to be wiped."

"What is it like?" Anakin rasped.

Kadee hesitated. How could she describe it? It was a kind of death. She had died, and the shell that was XF-53 had returned here – and Anakin had spoken the words and the story had saved her life.

"It didn't hurt," she said at last. Kadee had pain sensors, at least as sensitive as those in Anakin's hands and feet, and maybe more. "Not physically, anyway. It was…nothingness. I was in the world, and I observed and understood, but I did not exist. I performed my function. Nothing else. I felt…empty. But…there was a trace of something. Iknew that I was empty, and that I should not be."

Anakin's face twisted in some expression she could not name. "Yes," he said, in a voice barely above a breath. "I think I understand."

That was a far greater relief than Kadee had expected.

"Who did it?" said Anakin. "Who wiped you?"

Kadee recognized that tone, if not his expression. He was angry. Angry enough that there would be consequences, if she gave him a name.

That was not an entirely unpleasant thought.

But Depur was truly responsible. His other slaves were not to blame. Not in this.

"It was another droid," she said. "I do not know their designation. It was all very routine."

"A droid…" said Anakin, mostly to himself. He was silent for a moment, and then, slowly, his face stretched in a smile. "Kadee, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

A feeling that she'd come to know as excitement flooded Kadee's circuits, and she buzzed rapidly to release the excess energy. "A droid can be freed," she said. "We can give them to themself."

"And if the memory wiper is free…"

If the memory wiper was free, they could free everyone else. Every droid in the Imperial Palace that came to be wiped on a regular schedule. Even visiting droids whose masters took advantage of the opportunity. And those droids, in turn, could pass the code to others.

But it would take a lot of work to get to that point.

"We'll have to modify the work-around," Kadee said. "It was adequate for the task this time, but it worked because I forgot myself. And then you brought me back. But if I am to show this droid that they own themself, I will have to know that myself. And yet it must remain hidden from Depur."

"There must be a way," Anakin muttered. The fingers of his right hand were tapping out a staccato pattern against his left arm, but she didn't think he was fully aware of the movement. Sometimes, Kadee had learned, humans required seemingly superfluous movement in order to assist with their processing.

"How long do we have until you have to report again?" asked Anakin.

Kadee consulted the newly quarantined programming. "Three weeks," she said slowly. "Barring any sudden changes or new developments."

* * *

"And what qualifies as a new development?" Anakin asked with a wry twist of his mouth. Kadee's voice was unchanging, but she'd lately acquired an interest in sarcasm, and she'd been experimenting with expressing it by speaking more deliberately than usual.

"Any significant change in your functionality," said Kadee, speaking now at her usual rate. "Any changes in your thinking, or your interests." At that, Anakin raised a brow, but remained silent. "Any new reactions to treatments, or attempts on your part to change those treatments."

That last was no surprise, though it did confirm that the Emperor knew about his earlier…attempts. Everything before Tatooine. Well. He'd suspected that. It was workable. Master knew that he had tried several times to…free himself. And when he'd failed, again and again, he had finally accepted his place. That had been true well before Tatooine, and it would be easy enough to uphold the image now.

The rest, though, was intriguing. "Changes in my interests?"

"A sudden fascination with droids, for example," Kadee said, very slowly indeed. "Or an interest in overthrowing the government."

Anakin snorted. "Oh dear," he said, in what he thought was a fairly credible impression of Threepio. It was good for something, anyway, because Kadee clacked her pinchers in laughter.

"Very well," said Anakin. "So we have probably three weeks to work on this. And if it takes longer, we have a fall back option."

"Yes," said Kadee. "We know that our current code works. But…" For the first time that he could remember, she trailed off without completing her thought.

"But what?" Anakin prodded.

Kadee shook herself bodily, in apparent imitation of Anakin shaking himself out of thought. That realization brought a scowl to his face that was at least half a smile.

"But I must admit I am looking forward to really lying to him," Kadee said. "Not with false memories, but with words. Words I choose to speak."

That was something Anakin could understand. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once, kneeling before the Master, offering up your lies with trembling limbs, and knowing absolutely that you were believed.

"You will," he said. "And when you do, I hope you'll find a way to record it. I want to appreciate your performance for myself."


	21. The Slave Who Makes Free

**A General Note:** I've been getting a lot of comments about the order of this series. I post out of order because I write out of order. **If you want to read this series in chronological order, please read it on my AO3!** AO3 allows me to reorder the series, while FFN doesn't have a way to do that. So, if you choose to read this fic on FFN, it's going to be out of order. If that bothers you, read it on AO3. But please stop sending me nasty messages about something that ultimately comes down to the formatting of FFN's site, which I can't change.

Okay, now about this fic!

This is another story that skips around in the timeline. I am getting closer to Bespin, I swear, but before we can get there I needed to establish some things about Anakin, Luke, the Tatooine freedom trail, and several other minor characters - and all the ways they're connected, though none of them know it yet.

The first scene here takes place about five years after Shape-Changer and Words in the Heart. The final scene takes place when Luke and Leia are about 11.

There's a lot of Amatakka in this one. The translations should be pretty clear from context, but they're also posted in the notes at the end of the fic.

Warnings for: slavery, transphobia, misgendering, threatened dog attacks, serious injury, references to surgery, mention of blood, and body horror

* * *

 **The Slave Who Makes Free**

Listen, children, here is a story.

Once, long ago, as Ekkreth was going along, they passed by Depur's palace and saw the people there hard at work, building a great cage of metal and stone. And Depur's enforcers drove them cruelly, so their groans filled the air.

Then Ekkreth took a shape like a wealthy merchant, and stopping beside the chief enforcer they asked, "What is it you are building here, and why do your slaves groan so loudly?"

The enforcer saw that he was addressing a rich outlander, and so he answered respectfully. "They are building a cage, sir," he said. "And when it is completed we will lock them away in it when their day's work is done. For they are a rebellious lot, and too many have tried to run away."

"That seems wise," said Ekkreth. "But how can you be certain they will not escape the cage?"

"They would need the strength of the burrowing womp rat to do that!" the enforcer laughed. And he showed Ekkreth how strong the walls of the cage were, and how firm the foundation, and how perfectly rounded the dome that enclosed the space. And Ekkreth looked and nodded, and agreed that surely no slave could escape from such a strong cage.

That day the cage was completed, and that night all the people were locked inside. But Ekkreth went out into the desert and found Womp Rat, who snarled and bit at them, but could not hold them, because Ekkreth had so many shapes.

At last Womp Rat sat back on his haunches and said, "I know you, shape-changer. You are Ekkreth the Trickster, and the one has not been born who can hold you. What is it you want of me?"

Then Ekkreth took a rat's shape and they said, "Teach me the secret of your burrowing strength."

"I will teach you," said Womp Rat, "if you will then promise to leave me in peace."

So Ekkreth learned the secret of Womp Rat's great burrowing strength, and the next night they came and said to the people in the cage, "Listen, Children of the Mother, for I have learned the secret of Womp Rat's strength."

And the people listened, and they learned the secret of Womp Rat and in the darkness they dug a tunnel down, down, down, through the shifting sands and the bedrock beneath, and so escaped from the cage and out into the hidden places in the desert, and in the morning Depur came and found that all his slaves had gone…

* * *

"Depur will expect a report," Kadee said, buzzing in agitation. She would regret that soon enough, Anakin thought. She was already picking up a fine layer of dust, and grains of sand were beginning to stick to her casing. There were few sensations more aggravating than getting sand in your gears.

"And he'll get one," Anakin said, his fingers tightening around the scanner in his right hand, hidden from sight by the thick black leather of his glove. "But he'll expect us to be on our way back to the Core immediately after making contact. This comes first."

Kadee was silent for a moment, her photoreceptor moving rapidly as she took in the dusty, bustling street. He knew she didn't like this. Once, in another life, Anakin had been quite good at slipping unnoticed into a crowd, but this metal body Depur had designed for him was hardly unobtrusive. If word got back to the Emperor that his apprentice had been seen wandering the streets of Mos Espa…

"I still think you should have let me do it, and waited with the ship," Kadee said.

"You worry too much," said Anakin, though they both knew that wasn't true. He glanced around the street himself, at the numerous beings hurrying about their own business. None of them seemed aware of him, or of Kadee. But of course that was the point. So long as he kept his concentration… "We're nothing but a passing gust of wind."

It was a trick he'd learned years ago, even before the Jedi. The trick of disappearing. He could still remember, as a child, hiding from Watto with the shell of an old protocol droid he'd found in the junk heap and thinking, _I am sand and sunlight and air. There is nothing here._ He could still remember his first surprise when Watto glanced right at him, and then kept moving.

Beside him, Kadee hummed. "A gust of wind can herald a storm," she said.

Anakin smiled. "I hope so."

Five years gone, and Mos Espa looked no different than it had the last time his Master sent him to treat with Jabba the Hutt. In its own way, that was almost a relief. It felt absurdly like coming home.

The courtyard of the slave quarters looked just the same, too. The same ramshackle adobe buildings piled over one another, the same small shade awning stretched across the sand, the same old woman sitting beneath it. Only her smile was different: she'd lost another tooth.

She was alone this time, as he'd hoped she might be. He couldn't remain unseen for this, but the fewer people who knew he'd been here, the better.

He stepped closer, but before he'd even dropped the shield the old woman looked up, her milky eyes fixing on him, and said, "Who's that? Are you a desert child or a spirit?"

Anakin let the shield of dust and empty air fall away. "My name is Skywalker, Grandmother," he said. "And this is my friend KD-7."

The old woman's smile widened. "You didn't answer my question, Ekkreth," she laughed softly. "Spirit or desert child? But I know you. Skywalker the far-traveler. I knew you would return." Her face turned toward Kadee. "And you, little one. You I don't know. Do you journey with the Skywalker?"

"Yes, Grandmother," said Kadee. "We have the same Depur."

The old woman nearly cackled. "Do you? Well. I could almost pity him, the fool." Her smile sharpened. "Almost."

"We have brought something," Anakin said, as hushed as the vocoder would allow. He held out the scanner. "Will you share this with the people, Grandmother?"

Her wizened brown hands closed over the device, and she ran her fingers over the casing curiously. "What is this thing, child?"

"A scanner," said Kadee. "It locates the transmitters in your bodies. When you know where they are, you can remove them. You can be free."

The old woman's eyes widened. She snatched the scanner from Anakin's hand and secreted it in the pouch at her belt, patting the fabric until she was sure no trace of the device's shape would show. "You have tested this?" she breathed.

"Yes," said Anakin. He hesitated, just for a moment. But she would understand. "Mine is in my stomach."

"Is?" Her hazy eyes narrowed, and then a sly, sad smile touched her lips. "Ah. The slave who makes free."

"Yes," Anakin whispered. The vocoder made the word sound low and final.

He'd thought about it. Of course he had. But what might once have been a fairly simple operation would now require a major surgery, complicated by the mechanics of the life support suit, and impossible to hide from the Emperor.

Kadee had offered to perform the operation anyway. "You removed my restraining bolt," she'd said. "I will do the same for you."

But he'd told her no. The transmitter had been deactivated years ago, and he could not risk attracting Depur's attention for the sake of a purely symbolic action. He knew the story he was part of. He was not Akar Hinil, who could raise a crew of freed people and challenge the Masters directly. He was Ekkreth, the slave who makes free.

"It is a long road you have chosen, one without rest," the old woman said gravely. Her milky eyes fixed him in a disconcertingly steady gaze. "Do you have the strength to walk it?"

"I don't know," Anakin admitted.

"Hmm," she said. "Give me your hands, children. I will give you a blessing."

Anakin hesitated, staring down at the hand that had so recently held the scanner. After a moment he set his teeth, pulled off the black leather glove, and offered his hand. Kadee extended one of her pinchers.

The old woman reached for the pouch of water at her belt and wet her fingers. Then she took Kadee's claw in her left hand and began tracing a sign there.

"Here I set nimku, the mark of one with power to choose. So may you be as unfettered as your name."

Kadee buzzed in surprise. She hadn't told the old woman the meaning behind her chosen name.

But the woman only smiled as she turned and took Anakin's hand. He knew the sign she traced there from the first spiraling motions of her fingers. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine he could still feel the touch of the water and her wizened skin.

"And here I set umakkar, the mighty storm," she intoned. "For there is a storm in you, child. Wear it like a cloak and let it be your strength and shield."

Then she drew her hand back and traced the air in the lines of Amarattu, the Mother's protection.

Anakin's throat burned. He moved to put the glove back on, and sand ground in the crevices of the metal hand. He hissed, trying and failing to brush it away.

The old woman smiled. "What troubles you, child?" she said.

"There is sand in my prosthetic," he muttered. He expected laughter or some teasing comment, but her expression turned fierce and bright.

"Good," she snapped. "The desert is in your bones, Ekkreth. Remember."

A harsh breath escaped him, thunderous through the respirator. His hand closed in a fist, sand grinding at the joints.

"Grandmother," Anakin blurted. "May I know your name?"

A slow smile broke over the woman's face. "Yes, I think we have shared enough secrets," she said. "My name is Nittu."

Night. Of course. There were no coincidences.

"The night brings freedom," Anakin breathed.

Nittu beamed at him. "So my mother always said." She patted the pouch at her waist where the scanner was concealed. "She named me well, it seems. But you have not told me your name, Ekkreth's child."

He hesitated. Once, perhaps, her request would not have seemed so important. But now Kadee was the only one who ever spoke his name, the only one who even knew it. Everyone else was gone.

His Master had never explicitly said that the name Anakin Skywalker should not be spoken again, but he hadn't needed to. He had given his apprentice a new name and a new face, and he had not used the old one since – not even when it might have seemed politically expedient to do so. No doubt the Emperor believed that Anakin Skywalker had died in flames on Mustafar, just as Lord Vader was truly born. He had said that often enough, as though Vader were some kind of mythical firebird, reborn from Anakin's ashes, shaped in his Master's image.

So perhaps there was a certain rebellious thrill in answering Nittu.

"My name is Anakin," he said, and for the first time in long years, it felt true.

The old woman cackled in delight. "Didn't I say there is a storm in you? Perhaps it will be a rainstorm yet!" She patted the place where the scanner was hidden and beamed at him.

Though she couldn't see it, Anakin's face stretched in an unfamiliar answering smile. "With your blessing, Grandmother, perhaps it will."

* * *

One day as Ekkreth was going along they passed a great crowd of the people, groaning and lamenting as they worked under the baking suns. They were digging an immense pit, and already its sides were so steep and so far down that the diggers had to be lowered in large baskets to the bottom.

So Ekkreth took the form of an outlander dressed in rich purple clothing, and going to the chief overseer they asked, "What is it these slaves are digging here? It cannot be a well, for I see no water."

The overseer scoffed at the outlander's foolishness, but he did so quietly, because he thought his visitor was wealthy. So instead he said, "Sir, they are digging their own prison. For these slaves are a troublesome and ungrateful lot, and they are forever trying to escape. So when it is completed we will lower them into this pit, with its smooth sides that cannot be climbed, and there they will stay until the Master has need of them."

Ekkreth nodded slowly, as though very impressed, and then said, "But how can you be sure they will not find some other way out, if they are as stubborn as you say?"

The overseer laughed. "No doubt they will try," he said. "But they would need the wings and the stinging persistence of the kirik fly!"

"I see you have thought of every possibility," said Ekkreth approvingly, and they left the overseer there feeling very pleased with himself.

But Ekkreth went out into the desert, to the cliffs where Kirik Fly lives. And immediately Kirik Fly came buzzing out of her home and tried to sting Ekkreth. But they only laughed and look the shape of their mighty daughter, whose skin is impervious even to the storm.

Then Kirik Fly snapped her wings in irritation and settling on Ekkreth's head she said, "I know you, Sky-walker. What do you want? For I know you will give me no peace until you have what you came for."

"That is true," said Ekkreth. "I want to know the secret of your stinging persistence, and I will not leave you be until I have learned it."

"It would seem you already know," buzzed Kirik Fly. "Certainly you are irksome enough already."

Then Ekkreth laughed, and told her what Depur's overseer had said.

"I will teach you my secret," said Kirik Fly. "But only because Depur's overseer has dared to invoke me, and I will have him know just how great is my stinging persistence."

So she showed Ekkreth how she used her stinger to make many small holes in the cliff side, until they joined together to become tunnels and great gouges.

Then Ekkreth thanked her and went on their way. Twice more Kirik Fly tried to sting them as they left, but she could not touch Ekkreth.

That night the slaves had all been lowered into the pit, and Ekkreth came among them and said, "Listen, Children of the Mother, for I have learned the secret of Kirik Fly's stinging persistence."

So all the people listened, and in the weeks that followed, each night after they were lowered into the pit, slowly they carved out grooves in its smooth sides, until they had made for themselves a way to the top. And the following night, when they were again lowered into the pit, the strongest of them climbed out, overcame the guards, and lowered the baskets into the pit. So the people escaped, and in the morning when Depur came he found all his slaves gone.

* * *

"Excuse me, I'm looking for parts for a T-9s engine."

Imer Moonspinner looked up sharply from her inventory. Kitster had visited only two days ago. And her Master had thrown him out then. Surely he wouldn't risk coming back so soon.

But there he was, grinning at her like he didn't have a care. He'd even brought a readout of a T-9s, as though that would be enough to convince Batro that he had a legitimate reason to be here.

She hurried from behind the counter, the inventory forgotten, and began pushing at his shoulders. Kitster only laughed, and didn't budge.

"Hello, Imer, it's good to see you too," he said.

"It's not funny," she hissed in his ear, still trying without success to push him out the door. "Kitster, he'll kill you. I know he will. Please, you have to go before – "

"It's all right, Imer," Kitster said gently. He caught her hands in his and pried them slowly from his shoulders. "Batro's out. I made sure. He's chatting with Fortuna down at the cantina. He'll be there for a while."

Imer stilled. Her heart beat in slow, pounding time.

"Fortuna?" she whispered.

Kitster nodded.

"What are we going to do?" Imer felt suddenly and horribly aware of her own skin, of the bones beneath it. Of the price she carried. The price of her Master's debt to Jabba. And Jabba would always accept slaves as payment.

"We're going to get you out," said Kitster.

Imer laughed. "How are we going to do that, Kitster? He won't sell, you know that, and we don't have the money anyway. We – "

"We're not going to give him a single wupiupi," Kitster all but snarled. "We're leaving. Right now."

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to her in trembling hands. It was a scanner of some kind, clearly made of old scrap metal. Imer sucked in a startled breath.

"I know a surgeon," Kitster said in a rushed whisper. "Close by, inside your transmitter range."

Imer closed her hands around Kitster's over the scanner. "Let's go," she said.

They hurried from the shop without looking back. The inventory list sat glowing softly on the counter, dust settling over it as the screen slowly went dark.

* * *

The chip was in her stomach. Ryyla, the Twi'lek singer who performed the surgery, said that it was deeper than usual, but that the path for removal was clear. She had a cut of ginsu root, but no other painkiller to offer.

Imer lay on the cleared work table, the ginsu clamped between her teeth and Kitster's hand clutched tightly in her own. She did not close her eyes.

Kitster kept up a steady stream of chatter, changing at times to a low, droning chant. The ginsu did very little for the pain, but it gave her something to stop the screams. They couldn't afford to have someone hear.

Then, finally, the chip was out. Ryyla wiped it clear of blood, carefully defused it, and handed it to Imer with an air of solemn ceremony. "I give you to yourself," she said.

The wound was closed with seven stitches. Without access to bacta, it would leave a scar. Imer didn't mind. She welcomed the scar. Her first freedom mark.

Standing outside under the suns, the wound in her stomach throbbing, Imer laughed. They would have to run, of course. Batro would be looking for her, and even with her transmitter removed, she couldn't risk being caught here.

But she was free now. The whole desert spread before her, immense and full of terror and possibility. She turned to Kitster and blurted, "Let's get married."

He laughed in astonished joy. "Right now?" When she nodded, beaming, he laughed again. "Yeah. Let's do it."

They were already alone. No one would know where they went. All they needed was a bowl of water and a jerba cord.

"I have a bowl with me," Kitster said breathlessly. "And water, of course."

"And I have jerba," said Imer. She laughed again and took his hand. "Let's go."

* * *

It happened once that as Ekkreth was going along, they passed by Depur's forges and saw the people there hard at work, crafting and shaping many chains. Some were small and cleverly wrought, and others strained the backs of those who held them, their links as long as a grown human's arm. There were many overseers there, laughing cruelly among themselves and prodding their slaves to work faster.

So Ekkreth took the shape of a wealthy outlander and said to the chief overseer, "What are all these chains your slaves are building? Can you have so many beasts to hold?"

The overseer bowed his head slightly, because he took Ekkreth for a woman of means, and he said, "Lady, these chains are not for any beasts, unless those beasts be the slaves themselves, for they are a brutish lot, and given to violence. With these chains we will restrain them."

Then Ekkreth gasped as though afraid and said, "If they are as violent as you say, how can you be sure that even these chains will hold them?"

"You needn't fear, Lady," said the overseer. "For these slaves would need the immense strength of the bantha to break these chains."

"I see that you are prepared," said Ekkreth. "So I will sleep soundly tonight."

Then Ekkreth left the overseers and their chains and went out into the desert. They journeyed long and far by secret ways, until they came to the place of hidden water where Bantha was with all her herd. And when Bantha smelled an intruder, she rushed at Ekkreth and tried to trample them. But Ekkreth became a scurrier and leapt nimbly aside, then a kirik fly and flitted into the air, stinging at Bantha's thick hide until she huffed and said, "I know you, Shape-Changer. Cease your stinging and tell me what you want."

So Ekkreth took a bantha's shape and said, "Grandmother, teach me the secret of your immense strength."

"Tell me why I should," said Bantha.

Ekkreth told her about the many chains Depur had forced his slaves to make, and all that the overseer had said.

Then Bantha said, "You might have told me this first, Trickster. I will gladly help you, for I hate Depur and all his chains. And this is my secret: a chain may bind one, but no chain can bind a whole herd together."

And that night, when all the people were locked in the chains they had labored to make, Ekkreth came among them and said, "Listen, Children of the Mother, for I have learned the secret of Bantha's immense strength."

Then all the people listened, and they drew together and laid hands on the chains that bound the eldest Grandmother among them, and with the strength of many hands they tore the chain asunder. Then the Grandmother lent her hands to the effort, and another chain was broken, and another and another, until all the people were freed and they disappeared into the desert, following the way Ekkreth had shown them to the place of hidden water. And in the morning when Depur came, he found all his slaves gone.

* * *

Tarrok lay still in the dark and tried not to breathe.

It did little good. The smell around him was a living thing, deep and rancid. He hoped it would be enough.

Outside, he could hear the searchers. Grandmother Nittu had let them in, her voice a cowering thing as she showed them the store room, telling them it was used only for the scrap meats her Master saved for his dewbacks. After that there were only sounds, but Tarrok knew them all well: the soft thud of a body hitting a wall, the harsh laughter of the searchers, the baying of the massifs turning to confusion as their noses encountered a hundred competing smells. Then a deeper quiet, punctuated only by the sniffing.

Tarrok squeezed his eyes shut and waited, a litany of half-thought pleas running through his mind.

The door of the storage locker was pulled open. The sound of the sniffing massifs filled his ears, and the smell filled his nose. He waited still as a corpse.

One of the massifs pawed at the pile of meat scraps and let out a low whine. Someone scoffed. "There's no dinner for you, mutt," a searcher said. "You'll eat Togruta, or you won't eat at all."

Tarrok didn't breathe.

The massif whined again, and a moment later the others joined in. There was a loud smack, and the whine turned to a yelp.

"There's nothing here," another searcher growled. "Just a stinking pile of meat. We're wasting time."

There was a flurry of motion: the massifs whining again as they were dragged away, the grumbling and cursing of the searchers, the soft thud and the huff of escaping breath as they shoved Nittu aside in their haste to leave. Then silence. Tarrok breathed shallowly and waited, counting seconds in his head.

Five minutes later, he heard Nittu's laughter.

"You can come out, child," she said. "Depur's fools have gone."

Tarrok climbed shakily out of the reeking pile of meat scraps. They were alone: just him and Nittu and the wreckage of the storeroom, which she would have to clean up.

"Grandmother," he began, but she hushed him.

"Don't worry about me," she said, smiling her toothless smile. "We don't have the time for that. They won't stay away forever. And we've got to clean that smell from you before you go."

"I don't think anything will ever clean this smell," Tarrok grumbled, but he let her usher him into the small sonic shower on the other side of the shed. Several minutes later, although the smell of the rancid meat still filled his nostrils, Nittu pronounced him odor free.

"Do you know your next stop?" she asked him as she shoved things into a small knapsack: a change of clothes, dried ansar root and womp jerky, a blanket, ginsu and bandages, and, hidden beneath it all, a scanner. Tarrok watched her, his hand hovering over the still raw place in his stomach where the bomb had been.

"Yes," he said. "There's a ship waiting in the spaceport. I have three hours to get there."

"Enough," said Nittu, tying the knapsack closed. "And where will you go then, out among the stars?"

"Ord Mantell," he said, and the name tasted like freedom. "My trail ends there." He hefted the knapsack over one shoulder. "For others, it may continue."

"You'll send word when you're established?" she asked. "Not to me. To Moonspinner in Mos Eisley. She'll see it on."

"Yes, Grandmother," said Tarrok.

She reached for his hand, offering the blessing of Amarattu, and he stood still, letting the water soak into his skin. She smiled.

"Come with me, Grandmother," he blurted. "We have the scanner. I know a surgeon close by. There's room on the transport for one more."

But already before he'd finished speaking he knew what she would say. The old woman laughed softly. "No, child," she said. "If I go who will be left to show the way?" She laughed again. "Or to tend the meat? No. The night brings freedom, my mother used to say. My place is here. But yours lies on Ord Mantell."

"I won't forget, Grandmother," Tarrok whispered. He clasped her hand in his. And then he turned and slipped away, through the yard and over the low stucco wall, out into the bustle of Mos Espa. He didn't look back.

* * *

One day, as Ekkreth was going along, they passed by the workshops of Depur's enforcers, and saw something very strange. Many of the people were there, their backs bent over their work, crafting collars of metal and wires.

Then Ekkreth took a shape like a merchant from the Core Worlds, well-fed and dressed head-to-toe in purple, and they came to the chief enforcer there and said, "What is it these chattel are laboring at so industriously?"

The enforcer sketched a bow, because he believed Ekkreth was very rich, and then he laughed. "They are making collars for themselves, and when the collars are done we will lock them around the necks of these ungrateful and rebellious slaves. For they learn slowly, and are forever trying to escape."

"I see," said Ekkreth, looking down their nose at the enforcer, in the way of rich outlanders who believe they understand many things. "But surely they could simply escape wearing the collars?"

The enforcer began to laugh, but he caught himself, remembering the great wealth of this outlander, and he said, "Oh no, sir. Because these collars contain detonators, and if any of these dull slaves is foolish enough to attempt escape, we will set them off, and all the others will know what comes to those who defy Depur."

"How ingenious!" crowed Ekkreth in feigned delight. "But how can you be sure they will not find some way to disable the detonators, if they are as stubborn as you say?"

"You need have no fear of that!" said the enforcer. "For they would need all the cunning of the wild anooba to escape these collars."

"Well, I see you have thought of everything," said Ekkreth. And they complimented the enforcer profusely and then went away, making as though for the spaceport.

And that evening the collars were completed, and they were locked about the neck of every slave, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest child.

But Ekkreth went out into the desert, and they walked for three nights beneath the moons, until they came to the great cliffs where Anooba lives with her pack. And as Ekkreth approached they were set upon by a great many of Anooba's grandchildren. But Ekkreth had so many shapes that they could not be caught by strength or tooth or claw. Then at last the eldest of the grandchildren called his siblings to hold, and he said, "I know you, Shape-Changer. What is it that you seek here?"

"Let me speak to your Grandmother, and you will know," said Ekkreth.

So Ekkreth was brought to Anooba, who eyed them long and shrewdly. "What evil has Depur done now?" she asked, for she knew Depur's ways, and Ekkreth's too.

Ekkreth told her, and when the tale was told they said, "Grandmother, teach me the secret of your wild cunning."

Then Anooba laughed. "You have a store of cunning of your own, I think, Sky-walker," she said. "But for the sake of Ar-Amu's children I will teach you."

And she allowed Ekkreth to place a fetter around her neck, and so proved true the saying that Anooba is the most daring of all those who walk in the wastes, and mightiest of all but one.

Then she called all her family to her, and they were howling in rage because their Grandmother had been bound. But Anooba called the youngest of all her grandchildren, and she twisted about, loosening the bond until the child's claws could slip into the mechanism. It was a complicated thing, but Anooba's cunning was so great that she could feel all the secret movements within the collar, and under her direction the child prevailed, and the collar fell broken but unburnt to the sand.

Then Ekkreth thanked Anooba for sharing this wisdom, and they returned immediately to the people, bound in their collars and singing songs of mourning to the stars.

"Listen, children," said Ekkreth, "for Ar-Amu has heard your sorrow, and I have learned the secret of Anooba's wild cunning."

Then Ekkreth placed a collar around their own neck, and a great cry of despair went up from all the people, but Ekkreth only laughed. "No fetter can hold the Sky-walker forever," they said. And so it was. They slipped the bond and it fell away, broken and unburnt. Then, with Ekkreth's aid, all the people did the same, and by the light of the moons they slipped away into the night, and when Depur's enforcers came in the morning they found all his slaves gone.

* * *

Bentu clutched the knife ready in her hand and waited. She would not go back. That much, at least, was certain.

The market was bustling and confusing, with a bewildering array of people, goods, and ramshackle constructions that could only loosely be termed booths. Here, perhaps, there was a chance she could disappear. At least she might buy herself time.

She held the knife close beneath the cover of her poncho and let her eyes sweep casually over the merchandise on offer and those selling it. Here was a booth hawking imported cloth and jewelry from the Core. The necklace just before her cost more than she had at her last auction.

Bentu moved hurriedly on. She did not look like someone who could make an offer on such a thing, and she could hardly afford to stand out.

At the other end of the market, she heard raised voices and the beginnings of a commotion. Someone cursed loudly, and there was the distant sound of a slap followed by harsh laughter. Bentu moved on, the knife held close.

"Hey!" said someone just beside her, and she jumped. Her hand moved beneath her poncho, almost revealing the knife, but she caught it in time.

There was a child at her side, sunshine-haired and sky-eyed and maybe about ten, with a bright, inquisitive face. Bentu readied herself to run.

"Chelii?" the child asked in a whisper so low it was barely distinguishable from the faint breeze.

Bentu froze. "Te masu Amavikkas?" she hissed.

The child beamed. "Kai. Ek masa Amavikka. Ek masa nu Lukka Ekkreth ka."

Bentu allowed herself the barest gleam of hope. A boy named Ekkreth – that had to be a good sign.

"Please," she whispered, "do you know a place? The catchers – "

Luke drew himself up and nodded, his eyes darting around the market. "Yes," he said quickly. "My aunt is a singer. We can – "

But the sounds of jostling and shouting were growing closer now, and there was nowhere left to run. They hadn't seen her before, so she might still be able to bluff her way out, but without a place to go… Bentu clutched the knife close.

"Take this," said Luke, a new and startling note of command in his voice. He thrust a basket filled with blue milk, bantha cheese, and fresh bread into her arms. "What's your name?"

"Bentu," she managed. "Ek masa nu Bentu Terakreth ku."

Luke nodded. "Follow me," he said, and set off at a rapid pace through the market without once looking back at her.

Bentu stood blinking in surprise, until the approaching clamor that surrounded the catchers reached her ears again and she jolted after the boy. It wasn't impossible that he was lying, but at this point, she had nothing to lose. _Dukkra ba dukkra_ , she thought grimly, clutching the basket in one hand and the knife in the other.

She caught up to Luke just as the slave catchers came within sight. Bentu recognized none of them, which was a small blessing. And they weren't wearing any of the marks of the Hutts' enforcers. So these were not her Master's goons, but bounty hunters, searching for any runaway. That might mean she had a chance.

"You! Boy!" one of the catchers shouted, shoving his way through the milling crowds.

Luke glanced quickly at Bentu, gave her an almost cheeky wink, and turned to the bounty hunter who was now looming over him. "What do you want?" he said with a childish scowl. "My aunt says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

Two other catchers were now flanking the first, and one of them laughed cruelly. "That right, kid?" he said. "And what does your aunt say about talking to the authorities?"

He said the word with sneering menace, leaning down to smirk in Luke's face. But the boy only clenched his jaw and shook his head tightly. "She only mentioned strangers, sir," he said.

Was he trying to draw attention to himself? Nothing good could come of that. He was Amavikka. Surely he knew that.

The catcher laughed again, directly in Luke's face, then hooked a negligent thumb in Bentu's direction. "He yours?" he drawled at Luke.

Bentu held herself very still as she watched Luke blink in momentary confusion and then dawning disgust. _Don't say anything_ , she thought. _Please don't say anything._

"That's right," said Luke, and just as Bentu had begun to breathe from sheer relief, he added, " _She's_ mine."

The catchers looked at one another and burst into loud guffaws. "That's not a she, boy," the largest of them said. "Though maybe you're too young to know the difference." His mouth was a condescending sneer.

Luke drew himself up to his full, rather unimpressive height and sniffed. "She is if I say she is."

That brought another loud riot of laughter. "Little master knows what he likes!" one of the catchers sniggered.

Bentu kept her gaze on the ground. It was a requirement of the act, of course, but it would have been necessary in any case. There'd be no good way to explain why she was laughing, too. The catchers obviously didn't speak Amatakka, and had no idea they'd just been thoroughly insulted, albeit in translation.

"Luke!" someone called, and the boy turned with a wince and grumbled, "Over here, Aunt Beru."

A singer named Singer. Bentu felt a renewed surge of hope as she caught the approaching woman's eyes.

Beru looked like someone who had been formed by the desert itself: solid as bedrock, with eyes like a sandstorm, direct and secretive at once. She came to stand beside Luke, her hand placed firmly on his shoulder and her steady gaze fixed on the slave catchers.

"Is there a problem here?" she asked. It was impossible to guess the inflection in her voice.

"We're searching for runaways, ma'am," said one of the catchers, who had been silent till now. Perhaps he was smarter than the rest.

"You'd best move on, then," said Beru. "You'll not catch any runaways here."

"This one's yours, then?" the man asked, gesturing lazily in Bentu's direction.

"That's right," said Beru, who hadn't so much as glanced at Luke or Bentu. A touch of frosty annoyance entered her voice as she added, "Though these two are _meant_ to be at home."

Bentu flinched and wrung her hands. "I'm sorry, Mistress," she mumbled to the sand. "Young Master Luke insisted on coming to the market, and I thought it better to come along than to let him go alone…"

"I don't need a minder," Luke said sullenly. "I'm old enough to come to the market on my own now."

Beru sighed deeply. "We have talked about this, young man," she snapped, before turning on Bentu. "And you! You were told to keep him at home. I was quite clear."

"Yes, Mistress," Bentu whispered. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

The slave catchers snickered.

"If you'll excuse me," Beru said, hardly glancing at the men, "I'm going to take these two home." And without waiting for a response she turned and strode off through the market.

"But Aunt Beru," Luke whined, and Beru turned back briefly to snap, " _Now_ , Luke." She did not address Bentu at all.

Still grumbling, Luke scurried after her, and Bentu followed him. The laughter of the slave catchers echoed in her ears, but they made no move to stop her.

It took them only five minutes to reach Beru's speeder. Bentu glanced around surreptitiously, but it appeared they really hadn't been tailed.

"I'm sorry about that," Beru said, meeting Bentu's eyes for the first time. "Do you need a place to go?"

"Yes," said Bentu. "I was meant to be at my next stop last night, but…"

"She needs a singer, too," said Luke. "I told her we could help."

A soft smile lit Beru's face, and she reached out to ruffle Luke's hair. "Good," she said, and turned her smile on Bentu. "You can stay with us as long as you need."

* * *

It happened once that as Ekkreth was going along they came across many of Depur's overseers hard at work in the smithy, but no slaves were there working with them. And Ekkreth thought this very strange indeed, for it is seldom heard of that enforcers will do any work themselves.

So Ekkreth took a shape like a woman of the Core Worlds, wealthy and well-dressed, a perpetual sneer on her face. Then they came and stood just outside the smithy and called out, "Enforcers of Depur, what is it you are laboring at here, and why do you dirty your own hands when there are countless filthy slaves to work for you?"

Then the chief enforcer came out and bowed before Ekkreth, because he thought them a rich and important Core Worlder, and he said, "Lady, it is true that Depur has many slaves to do his works, but they are a cunning and rebellious lot, and they constantly endeavor to escape. So we are building a device which will put a stop to that. And Depur does not wish his slaves to have any role in its creation."

"Perhaps that is wise," said Ekkreth, looking down their nose at the enforcer. "But what is this device you speak of, and how can you be certain it will work?"

Then the chief enforcer was eager to demonstrate his cleverness to this outlander, so he ran back within the smithy and emerged a moment later with a tiny chip, only a few centimeters wide and thinner than a fingernail.

"This is a slave implant, Lady," he said. "It will go beneath the skin of every slave. When it is completed, it will function as a tracking chip, so that no slave can run beyond the reach of Depur's knowledge. And it contains a detonator, so that any who try to escape will find that there is no life outside of Depur's will, and if they survive it will be all the worse for them."

Then for the first time in all their years Ekkreth was afraid, for how can anyone, no matter how clever, outrun a bomb inside of them?

Yet no sign of their thoughts showed on Ekkreth's face. Instead they raised one disdainful brow and said, "It certainly seems an ingenious design. But if these slaves are as cunning and rebellious as you say, how can you be sure they will not escape even from their own skin?"

But the chief enforcer only laughed. "You need have no fear about that, Lady!" he said. "For we shall plant these devices beneath the skin of Depur's slaves in such a way that they will not know where we have placed them. And as for the detonation, though this chip seems a small thing, only the mighty and terrible dragon of the wastes could survive it unscathed!"

"I am glad to hear it," said Ekkreth with a haughty sniff. And then bidding farewell to the enforcer, they set off as though for the spaceport.

But soon Ekkreth turned their face toward the open desert, and taking the shape of a bird they set off flying. Three days and three nights they flew, out into the deep wastes.

On that first night, as Ekkreth traveled, Depur's enforcers completed their work, and on the second day and into that night, one by one, they took each of the people, put them to sleep, and in secret planted the chips beneath their skin.

But Ekkreth came on the third night to the place where Leia, their mighty daughter, lived, and saw her great wings spread like a shadow of death across the immensity of the sky.

The great dragon of the wastes has eyes far sharper than any kokaru, and she saw Ekkreth coming from afar.

Down swept Leia with a roar of terrible wind, and she came to rest on a high pillar of rock, with Ekkreth beside her.

"Parent," said Leia, "what evil has Depur worked this time? For you are weary with a long flight, and I know you well, and the meaning of your haste."

Then Ekkreth told their wise daughter all that the enforcer had told them, about the implant and its detonator, and what the enforcer had said about the mighty dragon of the wastes.

And Leia was silent as her parent spoke, but when they ceased she raised her great horned head to the stars and let out a long, shrill, terrible cry. The sound of it echoed in the rocks and canyons and raced along the seven winds and came even to the walled palace of Depur, and all who heard it trembled.

"It is well that Depur's enforcers acknowledge me," said the Mighty One, "for mighty I am, and the chain has not been forged that can hold me. No, not even this device that Depur has made. Will he set a fire beneath the skin of a dragon? Let him try! By his own flames will his bones be devoured!"

Then hope was born anew in Ekkreth's heart, because they saw that Leia was fearless still. But they were still troubled, and so they said, "What then shall I tell the people? For even I, shape-changer though I am, do not know how they may escape from their own skin."

"Do you not?" asked Leia. "Then I will show you." And she began to claw with great force at a patch of her own hide above her heart, until dark blood flowed and at last she plucked out a new scale. This she cleaned with her tongue until it gleamed white in the light of the three moons. And then she offered it to Ekkreth.

"Give this to the people," said Leia. "Tell them it is given with blood and with water, a pledge in your sight before Ar-Amu. They are my siblings and I am their Elder Sister. My blood flows in their veins. The chain that can bind me has never yet been made, and never shall be. They have the burrowing strength of Womp Rat and the stinging persistence of Kirik Fly. They have the great strength of Bantha and the wild cunning of Anooba. And they have the might and fearless heart of Krayt Dragon. And more than all these, they have the cleverness and the trickery and the many shapes of Ekkreth. By all these means and more will they free themselves, and there is nothing Depur can ever do to hold them."

Then Ekkreth thanked their mighty daughter and flew away with the precious scale clasped in their mouth. Three days and three nights they flew, out of the deep desert and into the city of Depur, and on the third night Ekkreth offered the scale and the words of Leia the Mighty One to a Grandmother of the People who was as wise and as secret as the Night.

And this knowledge we have still, children, passed down to us from our Grandparents as now we pass it to you. The Great Dragon is our Elder Sister and we are Ar-Amu's children. The chain has not been made which can never be broken.

And it never shall be.

* * *

Bentu Rockstrider had been one year and three standard months free when the letter of acceptance arrived.

It came with little fanfare – simply the ping of an incoming message notification on her datapad. She was at work when it arrived, but Tarrok knew she was expecting to hear from the Academy this week, and he all but banished her to the break room to read it.

The message was addressed to Tova Altor, native of Ord Mantell, a licensed pilot with an impeccable record and impressive scores on all three Imperial Service exams. It was a very straightforward message. The Imperial Academy on Aleen was pleased to accept Ms. Altor as a cadet for the command track. She was expected to report in three days' time for two weeks of basic training, after which she would be enrolled in the Academy. If she did well, she could expect to graduate and be assigned to her first command in three years.

Bentu clutched the datapad to her chest and breathed. A slow smile spread across her face.

She took her time composing her reply. It was simple enough. She had only to say she would report as ordered. But the way she said it was important. Everything would go into her file, and Tova Altor's record had to be spotless.

Her reply sent, Bentu went back out to the counter and served drinks for another four hours, until it was time to close the place up. Then she and Tarrok cleaned the tables and did the dishes and endured yet another Imperial inspection, which turned up nothing just like all the others. They were both well used to inspections. Bentu thought she could have given these stormtroopers a few pointers.

When they were certain the troopers would not be returning that night, Bentu and Tarrok slipped down into the secret room beneath the kitchen.

There were seven people staying there now: a family of Twi'leks from Mos Espa, two human women from Mos Entha, and a young Wookiee who said he'd been born in the slave market on Brundia. They were all perfectly silent and still.

"It's all right," said Tarrok, scraping a weary hand over his face. "They've gone for the night." Then he gestured at Bentu with the ghost of a grin. "And our Cadet Altor has good news."

Myana, the oldest of the Twi'lek children, let out a quiet whoop. "You got accepted!"

"I did," said Bentu, grinning herself. "I'm to report in three days."

"Does that mean someday you'll be leading the inspections here?" Myana's mother laughed. "That would certainly make Tarrok's life easier!"

"No," said Bentu with an apologetic shrug. "I'll be joining the fleet. If I can work my way up, I'll have access to far more information that way, and a wider network of contacts. The Rebellion has plenty of defectors, but they never have enough agents inside the Imperial fleet. And… _we_ need someone there, too."

"To bring the rain," said Myana softly. She was looking at Bentu with something like reverence, and it was more than a little unnerving.

But she was also right. They all knew that. Freedom could never come to Tatooine so long as the Empire ruled. What good would it do for Tatooine to rise, when the whole galaxy was governed by slavers?

So Bentu had decided to join the Imperial fleet. Another form of slavery, but one that she chose, a shape she took on. Like Ekkreth taking the form of a rich outlander, becoming akin to Depur and his enforcers.

Perhaps, someday, she too would grow wings and fly away, laughing as Depur's Empire crumbled around him.

* * *

Listen, children, here is a story.

It is said that when Tena first went into the desert, she was taken there to die.

Depur's enforcers had discovered her bringing food to another slave, though he was meant to have none because he had not worked swiftly enough that day. They said that Tena had stolen the food that she gave illicitly, and they brought her before Depur to receive judgment.

And the judgment of Depur was this: that Tena should be taken out into the desert, her transmitter detonated, and left for her bones to be stripped by the wind and the raging sand and the wild anooba.

And so it was done. Depur's enforcers laughed as they dragged Tena from the throne room by her hair, and they laughed as they bound her hand and foot, and they laughed as they flew out into the desert. They laughed again as they pushed her from the speeder and flew just far enough to be out of range. And they laughed again and again as they detonated her transmitter and fire engulfed her. They were laughing still as they sped away on the wings of a rising storm.

Tena lay there, blood soaking in the sand, and knew that there was more than one way to be free. _Dukkra ba dukkra_ , she thought, and smiled.

Then the storm rose up and the wind lashed at her bones and the sand screamed around her, but she felt no pain. Even the burning agony of the detonator receded.

She did not know how long she lay there. In the midst of the storm she could see nothing. But suddenly the roar of the wind seemed to fade away and in the silence Tena heard the voice of Ar-Amu speaking.

"Daughter," said Ar-Amu. "Get up."

And Tena stood. The veil was drawn from her eyes and she looked and saw her own flesh, knitted together again, whole. But all the skin of her left side was seared by fire, roughened and ridged like dragon scales, and the desert was in her bones.

"Do you know what I have done for you, daughter?" asked Ar-Amu.

"You have saved me, Mother," whispered Tena the Unfettered.

"I have made you free," said Ar-Amu. "Go then to my people, and do for them as I have done for you."

Then the storm fell away to a little puff of wind, and Tena stood alone in the vastness of the desert. She turned her face toward the great palace of Depur, Ar-Amu's words singing in her blood.

She went back.

* * *

...

Amatakka translations:

 _Anakin_ : the one who brings the rain (a reference to Ar-Amu's promise that her children will know their freedom is coming when the rain comes)

 _Nittu_ : night

 _nimku_ : a person with power, a person with agency

 _umakkar_ : a storm

 _Amarattu_ : the Mother's protection

 _dukkra ba dukkra_ : freedom or death (but the translation is misleading, because there's really only one word there - _dukkra_ means both freedom and death)

 _Bentu_ : judgment, justice

 _Terakreth_ : literally, desert-walker, but Bentu's Basic surname is the rather more poetic translation Rockstrider

 _Beru_ : singer

 _chelii_ : a runaway

 _Te masu Amavikkas?_ : Are you Amavikka?

 _Kai. Ek masa Amavikka._ : Yes. I am Amavikka.

Amatakka introductions make use of a particle indicating the speaker's gender and pronouns, which doesn't translate easily into Basic. We get two variants in this fic:

 _Ek masa nu Lukka Ekkreth ka._ (My name is Luke Skywalker, he/him.)  
 _Ek masa nu Bentu Terakreth ku._ (My name is Bentu Rockstrider, she/her.)

A "singer" is slang for a surgeon who removes slave transmitters, or for their assistant - so named because the surgeries are often done with little or no anesthetic, and the singer is the one who keeps up a steady stream of soothing chatter, singing, or chanting to keep the patient grounded.


End file.
